


Let's Not Be Too Hasty

by jrn_jpg



Series: A Whole New World [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Aladdin (Disney Movies) References, Auror Harry Potter, Babysitting, Bisexual Harry Potter, Blatant Flirting, Characters Watching Disney Movies, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, IVE BEEN ILL, M/M, Misuse of power, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Raising Teddy Lupin, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Tattooed Harry Potter, no beta we die like men, not abandoned I promise, parole officer harry potter, prisoner Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26407012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrn_jpg/pseuds/jrn_jpg
Summary: Harry Potter just wants to get through his Auror training to feel like he's living up to everyone's expectations.Draco Malfoy just wants to pass his parole hearing and get out of Azkaban for good.But when Auror Potter is assigned Prisoner Malfoy as his parole charge, they might just be forced to confront what they've always avoided.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Other(s), Harry Potter/Other(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: A Whole New World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029267
Comments: 46
Kudos: 106





	1. dark wizard catcher

**Author's Note:**

> this idea has been in my head for too long but who knows if I'll ever actually get any further with it  
> any love or general desire to know what happens will be greatly appreciated & may get me to write more who knows!!! so this is just a lil testing the waters I guess  
> all characters belong to jk but we don't like her here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! pls enjoy my first explorations into creative writing and leave nice encouraging comments so I don't worry about how terrible a writer I am all the time loool

~H~

‘Honestly Potter, I don’t know why you’re insisting on forcing yourself through the training, you’ve got the most experience in the wizarding world.’ Robards frowned at him over the Auror training request forms Harry had thrust upon his desk. ‘Not to mention your honorary N.E.W.T.s from Headmistress McGonnagall, and your - frankly - glowing letter of recommendation from the Minister of Magic.’

Harry scoffed at this; it wasn’t like he’d actually sat his N.E.W.T.s, what with the whole Battle of Hogwarts and fight for the wizarding world had been going on (and then the Death Eater trials, which Harry had _insisted_ upon attending, and the grief and the mourning and all the rest of it), and he’d only got a letter of recommendation from the Minister of Magic because it was Kingsley. 

‘It’s like I said Head Auror Robards: if you want me to be an Auror then you have to put me through the same training as every other person applying for the same job. I won’t be treated any differently just because of a scar on my forehead and a lucky shot with a disarming spell.’ Harry replied, just as calmly as the first (and second, and third, and fifteenth) time he had explained his decision over the past couple of weeks.

Harry cast an eye around Robards’ office, taking in the books, the wall full of meticulously organised cases files, the few scattered instruments that Harry recognised as the same types of dark wizard detectors as Mad-Eye Moody had stuffed his office with during Harry’s fourth year.

Was this what he could expect? To be favorited through Auror training and Auror duty and the whole ministry until he was promoted up to Head Auror obscenely young? Or even Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Minister of Magic? There certainly were witches and wizards who would love him to be sworn into the Minister’s office immediately - the fact that Harry was just shy of his nineteenth birthday notwithstanding. The fact that he didn’t necessarily, strictly, completely want to _be_ an Auror anymore wasn’t enough to not be ignored, and the satisfaction he’d get from catching more dark wizards and righting more of Voldemort’s wrongs was plenty enough to be getting on with for now.

He was the Saviour, the Boy Who Lived to Kill the Dark Lord, it was programmed into his existence via said famous scar to be a dark wizard catcher.

Some potential personal discomfort and occasional nightmare triggers were to be expected, right? Completely normal… Right?

Robards was looking at him closely, with the distinct focus of someone trying to determine whether there was food in the teeth of whoever they were looking at. As if he could see directly into Harry’s thoughts and seem them spiralling away from him. He didn’t seem convinced.

‘I’m sure others will agree that it was a little more than a “lucky shot with a disarming spell”, Potter, but I suppose I have to respect your wishes here. If you’re absolutely insisting, then there’s no point in my reasoning with you.’ He stamped the parchment in front of him and passed it over to Harry. 

‘I’ll see you in training on Monday, Potter.’

***

‘HARRY! Over here!’

Not even half a second after almost falling flat on his face after a decidedly ungraceful exit from the floo gate, Harry was being heckled by a rowdy table towards the back of the pub. Looking over, he spotted his friends taking up the entire back row of the newly refurbished Three Broomsticks, a sight that was becoming somewhat of a familiar sight for their regular Friday night pub nights.

 _Merlin, the whole of eighth-year must be here!_ Harry thought to himself. Although, he knew full well that it was not the _entirety_ of eight-year. Despite Headmistress McGonnagall’s best efforts at inter-house unity and Hermione’s assurances in her letters that they ‘really were trying, honest!’, Harry knew that a certain green and silver house had been neatly forgotten by everyone else. Brushed under a carpet. Tucked into the back of everyone’s mind.

Like a whisper you couldn’t quite catch or a shadow you chose not to see out of the corner of your eye.

Waving at Ron in an attempt to quiet him down a few decibels - _not that_ that _has ever worked, not in the eight years they’d been friends_ , Harry chuckled - he pointed at the bar and mimed to show he was going to get a drink before making his way over.

‘Leave it, we’ve got you plenty over here!’ Ron’s bellows came again, slicing through the entire establishment. It was a miracle that Madame Rosmerta still allowed the group of them through the door, what with Ron, Dean and Seamus’ foghorn voices attempting to break the sound barrier every time they met up for drinks.

As if reading his mind - ‘Ronald Weasley, if you don’t can it _right now_ you’re out! I don’t care that you could keep this pub afloat with your business alone, _SHUT IT_!’ Madame Rosmerta’s shill voice cut across the din, simultaneously silencing the whole room and turning Ron’s ears as red as his hair.

‘So.’ Ron slid the bottle of butterbeer over to him, as well as a shot of firewhiskey, which Harry promptly downed. ‘You will not believe who Minnie’s got teaching Defence this year, _honestly_ …’

Harry allowed Ron’s voice to fade into the background, nodding and making the appropriate noises when he paused in tales of how the past few months of his eighth year at Hogwarts was going. Harry needed this, he needed some semblance of normality, the mindless gossip of eighth-year Hogwarts. The daydream of a Hogwarts that never had to bear witness to the horrors of the Battle, of his own childhood and time at Hogwarts not being tainted by the relentless threat of Voldemort and his dumb Death Eaters year after year. Missing Hogwarts was perhaps even the worst of it, the thought of all of his friends having gone back to school for their final (and probably most _normal_ , no thanks to him) year ever. Hell, he’d even take a quick midnight duel with Malfoy at this point, just to remember what it was like to be eleven and having midnight duels in the Trophy room. But that wasn’t possible. Because Malfoy had been sent to Azkaban. Because he was a Death Eater. Because Voldemort marked him. 

Because of the war.

 _Voldemort_.

_Merlin_ , it was going to be a long night if he kept this up.

The night went on. The conversation flowed on and Harry nursed his butterbeers and his fire whiskeys, trying to concentrate on the names and details of people in the stories that Dean and Seamus spun around and around in circles around his head. He had a vague awareness of Ron, sat awkwardly, reminding Harry of how he’d looked every time Oliver Wood had tried to give a pep talk before a quidditch game. He turned to give him his attention, certain that he could see something bubbling away just below the surface, something that needed the slightest _nudge_ to come tumbling out. 

Before he could say anything, however, Ron’s train of thought spilt all over him.

‘Right Harry, I have to ask, ‘Mione’ll kill me if I don’t, you know she’d be here if McGonagall didn’t have her helping the firsties, hates it when she misses your visits, you never visit enough she says, anyway she wanted me to talk to you see? Get a feel of how you’re doing, and -’

‘ _Ron_.’ Harry cut him off. ‘First of all, you and Mione have only been away three months, how often does she expect me to visit? Second, you’re rambling and I’ve had too many beers to focus that much on it, so spit it out.’

‘Have you given it all up yet? We miss you at Hogwarts, mate, it’s not the same without you. Anyone will agree. Come on, surely you can see that you’re hating every second of this bloody Auror training?’

Harry sobered at this slightly, sighing. Resigned. He knew this was the reason for Ron’s overgenerous gesture of buying their many rounds of drinks, that he’d been waiting for Harry to lower his defences before broaching this topic again. He felt betrayed, slightly, at the fact that Hermione had given such strict instructions to Ron, yet hadn’t felt the need to ask him herself. The pair of them hadn’t exactly been subtle in their disappointment that he had insisted upon going straight into a Ministry job rather than back to Hogwarts to finish his education, like they had both done after the rebuilding of it in the summer. If anything, he’d have thought that going out and beginning the career that the whole wizarding world expected of him would have them _pleased_ ! Weren’t friends supposed to be happy that he was getting out of bed, showering, and going to a paying job every day? Rather than him stay sat at home (if number 12 Grimmauld Place could ever feel like home) and wallowing in what felt like every emotion but joy, with his only company being Kreacher and his newly adopted cat and promptly ignoring the worried owls and Floo calls from everyone under the sun. (The fact that this was _precisely_ what Harry had done in the months between the end of the war and the beginning of Auror training, which in itself coincided nicely with all of the people left to nag at him returning to Hogwarts in September).

‘You know I’m not going to quit Ron, being an Auror is basically hardwired into my brain and you know it.’ Ron snorted at this, but Harry carried on. ‘If anyone’s got a right to be pissed, mate, it’s me! You abandoned me! What happened to becoming Aurors together?’

‘Oh come _on_ Harry, we were fifteen when we decided that! Surely you got enough dark wizard action with old Voldy to last you a lifetime? I know I have!’ He took a big gulp of his butterbeer. ‘Or I supposed it’s two lifetimes in your case, what with the whole he killed you and you came back to life to kill him thing?’

Harry grimaced at that, remembering the cold voice calling out the spell and the flash of green light before he’d fallen to the forest floor, before trying to mask it by rolling his eyes at his best friend, trying to remember why he’d put himself through the past three months of training. _Oh yeah.. Because that’s what the Chosen One_ does _._

‘You know why, Ron, I want to do my bit.’

‘Do your _bit_? Your bit is done and dusted mate, surely even your thick skull can understand that.’

‘Oh come off it, how many times are you gonna insist on this fight Ron? You and Mione both know this job is the only thing that’s made me want to get out of bed in the morning! - and don’t try and argue with me anymore!’ Ron had gone to protest but promptly shut his mouth again, ‘I love you both, but you’re just wrong this time alright? I need to do this, I need to be useful. There’s still so much shit to change back from when Voldemort tried to take over, and what kind of “saviour” would I be if I didn’t at least try to help and round up some more death eaters whilst I’m at it, heh? Being an Auror is the only way I can do that.’

He gave a short, sharp bark of laughter and took another large sip of his drink. Ron just looked at him over the booth table, one hand still holding onto his own seemingly forgotten pint, and gave a small sigh.

‘Harry…’ Ron began cautiously, before he was interrupted.

‘Look mate, it’s getting late anyway and I’ve obviously had more than enough. I’ll probably see you for lunch at the Burrow on Sunday or some other time, but I need to go. I’ve got a load of shit to sort out before I get back to training on Monday morning. Damn weekend breaks are never long enough.’

And with that, Harry choked a laugh, downed the rest of his butterbeer and tried not to let Ron see the tears threatening to fall. Harry left the pub, waving a goodbye to Rosmerta and the rest of the eighth years, and apparated away the second he reached a dark enough alleyway, completely missing the resigned, worried look Ron gave him, watching him the whole way.

* _3 years later_ *

The previous weekend had passed in a blur of takeaways, coffee, and homework, all working their hardest to distract Harry from how utterly miserable the prospect of going back to the Ministry on Monday morning was, but all too soon Harry was back to stumbling out of one of the fireplaces in the atrium.

Grumbling as he made his way to the Auror department, Harry scolded himself for not remembering to leave enough time to grab a to-go cup of coffee from his favorite coffee shop before work. Mondays were shit enough, but Mondays _sans_ coffee? Plus his new parole officer bullshit training?

 _Ugh._ he was not in the mood to be nice and polite to the ex-bloody-convict he’d been saddled with, when really all he wanted was a coffee or a nap or maybe both. Maybe a shot of firewhiskey whilst you’re at it. Sighing, Harry knew that only one of those things was accessible _and acceptable_ for first thing on a Monday morning in the Ministry, and he tapped his wand to one of the coffee pots in the Auror tea room. 

Watching the machine splutter out the most pathetic excuse for coffee Harry had ever had the misfortune of tasting, he scolded himself for not leaving with enough time to swing by his favourite coffee shop on the way in. Not only was he now missing out on some actually nice-tasting bean water, he happened to have found out - via his second favourite barista _not so subtly_ trying to wingman him - that his new favourite barista, Sam, had requested the morning shifts specifically to slip Harry an extra breakfast pastry if he came in.

Stomach rumbling at the thought of (and lack of) a pecan plait, Harry sighed and picked up the shitty instant machine coffee, resolving to himself to make an effort to get in early tomorrow. Pastry and fancy coffee to boot.

Unable to see how to postpone the inevitable any longer, Harry began making his way down the corridor to his office. In a last ditch effort to not actually _drink_ his dirt-coffee, he settled for an attempt at absorbing the caffeine via inhalation, as though he could somehow receive the energy required for a Ministry Monday Morning through osmosis. 

Before opening the door to his office, Harry hesitated. The _ex_ -convict he was now responsible for was sitting just feet away. He felt sick. He could hear Hermione in his head, an odd combination of chastising him and spurring him on; _Harry James Potter, you chose this job so you get in there and deal with it!_ Shaking his head but now smiling to himself, Harry opened the door to meet his charge, only for the smile to drop at the sight of hair that was too platinum blond, posture that was too rigid to be anything but the result of a pureblood upbringing.

Well shit.

_Draco sodding Malfoy._


	2. poster boy for reformed death eaters

~H~

‘Malfoy.’

Harry’s voice came out choked, not at all in the confident way he was supposed to be feeling as an Auror in charge of his newly paroled offender.

In a movement so slight, if Harry had blinked he’d have missed it, Malfoy turned his head to the side and curled his lip in the recognition of who’s office he was apparently in, ‘Well, well, well… long time no see, Potter. The trials, if I’m not mistaken?’

 _You know bloody well you’re not mistaken, you git_ , Harry thought, but all he could get out was a shaky ‘Er… yeah.’

‘Eloquent as always, Potter. Though I must say, I thought you’d have learnt how to string a sentence together by now,’ Malfoy smirked.

‘Oh shut it, Malfoy.’ Harry could already feel himself slipping back into their old routine of trading biting comments. ‘You’ll have to start showing me a little more respect if you want to stay _out_ of Azkaban, or did you forget why you were here?’

The smirk wiped itself from Malfoy’s face at the mention of Azkaban. Clearly the six months Malfoy had been out had done little to help him to forget his time spent there, despite the fact that he no longer looked half starved.

In the four years Malfoy had been imprisoned, Harry had only made the trip out to the North Sea once. And even then, it was only as part of an Auror-training field trip; Harry had absolutely no desire to see the faces of all those Voldemort supporters - marked and unmarked - that he’d helped put away in those couple of months after the war. He especially hadn’t intended to catch a glimpse of Malfoy through the bars of his cell as he walked past. It was only thanks to Kingsley's influence that he had been permitted to use Polyjuice potion as a disguise as he walked around, so as to not rile up the Death Eaters and whatnot, that Malfoy hadn’t glimpsed him back.

Harry didn’t think he could ever forget the sight of the man looking so utterly _broken_ in his cell. His hair had been long and dirty, his face a sallow yellow colour, and gaunt, with the skin sagging over his once proud and prominent cheekbones. It had reminded Harry of the pictures the _Prophet_ used to put up of Sirius back in his third year, of how hollow his face had been, how empty his eyes, compared to photos of him from _before_.

An uncomfortable pit had settled into Harry’s stomach at the thought of seeing Malfoy so broken and vulnerable. It unsettled him. In the decade they’d known each other, Malfoy had never appeared anything less than perfectly put together, completely in control of how he presented himself to the rest of the world. Harry’s visit to Azkaban prison was something he had tried very hard to obliviate, without magic, from his memory.

The man in front of him was certainly no longer the boy that Harry remembered from Hogwarts. The frame of his body wasn’t quite so lean; it was more… _more_ . Malfoy had obviously been out of Azkaban long enough to recover from the starvation diet and malnutrition, the pointed angles had softened, but still looked like they could cut if you brushed along them. The luminous silver of his hair was blonder, _dirtier_ , polluted with strands of gold. 

‘Of course not, Auror Potter, how on Morgana’s green Earth could I forget?’ 

‘Oi, less of that, thanks. And I'm not an auror, or you wouldn’t be sitting here would you?’ Harry moved around Malfoy to the chair behind his desk, sitting down himself. ‘Now, I know you’re you and I’m me but for the sake of getting you through your parole period could we please try and be somewhat civil? Or professional? At the very least not hating each other’s guts?’

Malfoy fixed him with a cool stare across the desk, his grey eyes giving nothing away. Not for the first time during his training did Harry wish that he’d been better at keeping up with his occlumency after the trainwreck of fifth year, maybe then he’d be able to read what was going on behind that Malfoy Mask™. Sticking with what he _could_ remember from training, Harry maintained his eye contact, refusing to be the one to give in after all this time. 

After what felt like another three years, an impenetrable silence, and Harry feeling like he might just combust at any moment, Malfoy nodded.

‘Right, well, erm-’

‘Do tell me you actually know what you’re doing here Potter? My liberated life is quite literally on the line here and I hate to think that your hands aren’t capable of the job.’

‘I’ll have you know that my hands are very capable of more jobs than you know!’

The words were out before Harry even realised what he said, or how they could be misconstrued, but it was too late.

‘Err, I mean, well I have.. Training you know? Not that I’m not - er - capable, this is weird, what was the question?’

Malfoy fixed him with a look again, obviously enjoying the flustered state of his _supposed-to-be-professional_ parole officer, but his eyes now shone with mirth instead of the steel grey, as if he was only moments away from laughing at Harry’s discomfort. In another lifetime - if they had been friends - Harry knew that Malfoy would tear him to shreds over a slip up like this, it made up 87% of his humour with Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville in their dorm over the years at Hogwarts.

‘Again, Potter, I’ll say: eloquent as always.’ Malfoy smirked.

‘Piss off, you know what I meant. Anyway, this was just supposed to be a quick meeting; you meeting your parole officer, me meeting my parolee… Merlin knows what Robards was thinking, pairing us together. I guess we just figure out a schedule for now and try not to kill each other for the fiftieth time this decade.’

‘Ah but scarhead, if I kill you, who will be there to report that I’ve broken my parole?’ A mock innocence took over his face, eyes wide and lips making a perfect “O”. It didn’t help that his blond hair and grey eyes made him seem positively _angelic_. The bloody poster boy for reformed Death Eaters.

‘Har har, let’s just try and get through your probation period and then we’ll never have to see each other again. Right, so you’ve got another six months before your parole is over and we have to meet once a week to keep everything in check, so… are there any days that you’d prefer? Wednesdays and Thursdays are best for me, or Friday evenings, or we could maybe do even the weekend if you can’t do it during the week? Although not Saturday evenings, and you’re supposed to have some form of employment - do you? If not I’ve got all sorts of leaflets and flyers you could look at - here’s one,’ Harry handed him _Don’t Despair, Death Eater! Five Jobs That You Can Still Do With The Dark Mark_ without looking at it, ‘- it’s not much but it’s enough for a first step and then we can… what?’

Malfoy was looking at him with that bemused expression again, laughing at him. _That prick, I’m trying to help here_.

‘If I could possibly get a word in, Potter? How can I respond when you seem to talk a mile a minute?’

 _Oh, right._ ‘Er, sorry, Mione says I always ramble when I’m nervous… what do you think?’

‘Saturday night? Do you have nothing better to do with your Saviour social life?’ Malfoy was smirking at him again. It was starting to really piss Harry off.

‘Well, I have an obligation on Saturday evenings - a family thing - if that’s the only day you can do we can work around it.’

‘Alright, alright, no need to get your frilly knickers in a twist,’ Malfoy chuckled, _great now he’s physically laughing at me_ , ‘I usually work the evening shift on Saturday’s anyway. Friday works for me, not like I can go anywhere or do anything fun. See you then, Potter.’

And with that, Malfoy stood, _winked_ at Harry, and left the office.

Waiting until the door had closed behind Malfoy, Harry released the breath he’d apparently been holding, collapsing back into his chair and trying to comprehend what in Merlin’s saggy left tit had just happened. 

The dirt coffee was left cold, and forgotten, on his desk.

~D~

It’d been four years since Draco had last seen him. Four years since he’d allowed himself to think of that mop of black hair and those particularly piercing green eyes, the tall, lean frame of his body and the sharp cut of his jaw.

Yep, becoming an Auror was clearly working out _very_ well for Harry Potter.

Although it wasn’t as though he could compare it to himself very fairly; he had, after all, just got out of wizard prison after 3 years. Sure, he’d managed to put back on most of the weight he’d lost - his mother and Mipsy had been hell-bent on feeding him all and any food they could force down his throat since his early release 6 months ago, it was enough for anyone to regain pre-megalomaniac weight. But there was still no way he could compare to the _Chosen One_ : muscle compared to his malnutrition, full of life compared to his emptiness, bright emerald eyes to his deadened grey. 

Draco walked away from Potter’s office, still reeling over the fact that _Potter_ was his new parole officer, and made for the apparition point to head home. He turned with a sharp _crack_ and the green fireplaces of the Ministry were replaced by his mother’s new rose garden behind their house.

“Home”, he supposed, was a bit of a vague description of a house he had only lived in a few months, his mother having moved there as soon as Draco and his father were both given their respective sentences. It was a small end of terrace thing, about an eighth of the size that the manor had been, but there had been no option of returning to live in the shell that had been the Malfoy ancestral home.

Walking up the back path now, Draco could see how his mother had fallen in love with the quaintness of the place; the tiny rooms, the soft corners and gentle furnishings, the huge windows at the back of the house, letting in more light than could have ever been seen in the manor. It was Narcissa Black to a tee.

It was also completely muggle.

Sure, there were privacy wards up around the back garden (Merlin _forbid_ they be overlooked), and owl filters up so that only mail from senders they knew could get through, but aside from that magic had been well and truly banished by his mother.

Opening the back door to the house into the tiny kitchen, Draco called out a greeting to his mother and set about making them both a cup of tea. Their tea rituals had by no means been hampered by the decrease in kitchen size, Draco’s imprisonment, or the noseless megalomaniac that had squatted in their house for two years, and was still very much a staple to their routine. 

Narcissa had clearly heard him, at the noise of the kettle coming up to boil, and was all of a sudden there in the kitchen with him, clearing her throat. It snapped him out of his train of thought as he picked up the whistling kettle from the stove, placing it on a mat on the kitchen table along with two teacups and their saucers. 

‘Mother. Tea?’

‘Of course. Thank you, my dragon.’ Narcissa smiled at her son, he rolled his eyes at the pet name, and poured the tea into both of their cups. 

‘Well are you going to tell me how the meeting went, or am I supposed to start guessing for myself?’

Signing to himself, Draco took a sip of his tea, burning his tongue slightly. He should’ve known he couldn’t drag this out any longer.

‘My parole officer is Harry Potter, mother.’

Silence.

Let it be known that Narcissa Malfoy was not one to be rendered speechless by just anything, her upbringing and good breeding had seen to it that there was always the perfect response, perfect retort, brewing away in her mind. It’s what made her such a skilled conversationalist at dinner parties for all those years.

‘You’re quite sure? Harry Potter? There wasn’t some mistake in the paperwork?’

‘Quite sure mum, he told me himself. Sat me down in his office and broke the news in his usual brutish way.’

And then, to Draco’s complete and utter astoundment, Narcissa _laughed_.

She actually had the gall to _laugh in his face_ about the utter travesty that was now his life under the parole of Auror Harry fucking Potter.

‘And what, pray tell me mother, is so funny?’

‘Oh but dragon, don't you see? This is the best possible outcome for you. Harry Potter is the only one in that whole Ministry who would have it in him to give you a fair chance at parole and a life beyond that mark on your forearm! He will see more in you than just an ex-Death Eater, he always has! Oh! Dragon this is your chance!’

By the end of her little speech, Narcissa was almost singing with joy at what Draco had told her, obviously there had been some accidental potion or narcotic in her tea? Why else would she be acting so barmy? Draco was bewildered.

‘Mother, are you quite alright? Do you need to lie down?’ _In a dark, padded room?_

‘What? Of course, dear, in fact this is the best I’ve felt in years!’ She stood up and started pacing around the room, ‘my little dragon, a second chance! Saved by Harry once again!’

Draco was well used to his mother’s eccentricities by the age of twenty-one, but having not been around them whilst he had been _away_ brought them to an all new level of crazy that most definitely did not come from the Malfoy side of the family (after all, crazy Aunt Bella didn’t get _all_ of her crazy from Azkaban). That being said, the more Narcissa paced the tiny kitchen and rambled to herself about how much of an opportunity this was, the more Draco felt inclined to agree with her. After his treatment in Azkaban, it was no surprise to him that the rest of the Aurors would still see him as nothing more than a filthy Death Eater, just like his father, and loyal servant to the Dark Lord. Potter was the only one who would give him the benefit of the doubt, and try to get him through his probation period with as little disruption as possible. He had even been the one in the meeting to request that _Draco_ be more civil! Imagine: a Malfoy not to be civil!

Maybe Harry “Wonder Boy” Potter could save his life one last time.

~H~

‘Hi Janice, bye Janice.’ Harry marched past the witch and threw Robards’ office door open. He’d had to wait _all day_ before he’d had a chance to interrogate Robards about the shitshow of his parole assignment. Poor Janice, couldn’t even get a word out before Harry was past her.

‘ _Auror_ __P_ otter _. I suggest you reverse yourself back out of that door and wait to be permitted like everybody else.’ Robards’ voice came booming at Harry, making him momentarily forget the urgency that had driven him all the way over from his office.

‘Sorry sir, I just really need to speak to you,’

‘Well as you can see, Potter,’ he gestured to the wizard sitting in front of him, ‘I am otherwise engaged. So, _wait_.’

‘But sir-’

‘ _Potter.’_

Harry threw his hands up, conceding, ‘Alright, but I promise it’s urgent,’ and backed out of the office.

Harry rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, hands clasped together in front of him. The witch - Janice - was watching him as he did so, her eyes narrowed slightly and her arms across her chest as she began to file her nails. Harry could just _tell_ that she was not best pleased about his barging past her into Robards’ office, much less so that he’d been in a meeting with Kingsley fucking Shacklebolt.

What the sodding Minister was doing slumming it down in the DMLE for, Harry had no clue. Nor was he going to ask. Nope. No siree.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by Kingsley yanking the door open again, winking at Harry, and then marching straight past before Harry could even think the word “quidditch”. 

‘You can go in now Mister Potter,’ Janice smirked at him over her nail file. It took everything Harry had not to succumb to his childish impulses and stick his tongue out at her. He was an Auror now. An adult. _Why is it still so hard to act like one?_

Shaking his head to himself, Harry straightened his posture, brushed off some imaginary lint from his robes, and strode once again into the Head Auror’s office. However, before he could even open his mouth to explain to Robards why he was there, he was interrupted.

‘I’m not changing your parole assignment from Mister Malfoy, Auror Potter.’ came Robards’ stern voice.

Harry’s mouth fell open in shock. ‘But sir- I can’t possibly… I mean, how? Why not?’

 _Eloquent as always, Potter_ , Harry could hear Malfoy’s condescending tones loud and clear in his mind. Great, even his own head was against him.

‘Because, Auror Potter, I said so. Any further grievances you have with the way I have assigned paroles can be taken up with the office of the Minister for Magic.’

‘ _Kingsley_ did this? But, sir, wh-’

‘It is not up to you to demand “why” of me, Potter, but it is for you to obey the orders you’re given. Unless, that is, you no longer wish to become a fully qualified auror?’

Harry’s eyes widened at this, _no way_ could he not become an auror now! Not after putting up with the training for three years, and being a shit friend to Ron, Hermione, and the others, a shit adopted son to Molly and Arthur, and a shit godfather to Teddy… he had to see this all through now.

‘Yes, sir. Thank you for your time,’ Harry murmured, hoping he still managed his most polite and submissive tone. Shoulders drooping, and the beginnings of a huge knot forming in the pits of his stomach, he turned around and left the office.

There was no way out of this now. Not only was Harry now the parole officer of one ex-Death Eater Draco Lucius Malfoy, it was decided by the Minister of Magic and there was absolutely _no sodding way_ he could get out of it.

Bloody _brilliant._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a comment or kudos is always appreciated xox


	3. no witches, anyway

~H~

With a sharp _crack_ , Harry landed his apparition in a small alleyway in the middle of Notting Hill. Emerging, he took stock of his surroundings. A few streets back from the famous Portobello Road sat the neatly hidden wizarding community that surrounded it’s own high street. Although charmed to appear as any old collection of houses (although with a very strong anti-muggle repellant), Harry felt himself be welcomed by the wards as he strolled along the road with his hands in his pockets, taking stock of all the establishments around him. He kept a keen eye in particular on the Troll’s Foot pub, one of his and Ron’s personal favourites, wondering if he’d have time to pop in for a quick pint later on.

Reaching the appropriate side street, Harry took a left turn and came to a stop in front of number 7. It was a remarkably neat red brick house, considering half of who lived there, and there was a fresh bed of tiny daffodils in front of the window to the left which gave off a wonderful scent. Smiling to himself, Harry reached up and knocked on the door.

‘Harry!’

Before he even had time to blink, his face was full of bushy brown hair. Harry smiled and closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon of his best friend as he wrapped his arms around her.

‘Mione! Let the man in the door before you attack him.’ 

Harry opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of fiery ginger before his other best friend joined the death grip Harry was currently victim to.

‘You can’t say that and then join in, Ronald,’ Hermione chastised, but there was no malice in her voice and Harry could feel her smile through the masses of her hair.

‘How about you both stop squeezing me in a death grip and let me in off the front doorstep?’

Mr and Mrs Ron and Hermione Granger-Weasley stepped back and smiled, both sporting a _very_ healthy tan with only a hint of sunburn across Ron’s nose. Mione must’ve had him bathing in suncream for him to have escaped with no lobster sunburn. Harry smiled back at his best friends.

‘So how was the honeymoon?’

***

‘Oh, Mione,’ Harry began, ‘I just wanted to say, those flowers in front of your window smell amazing,’

‘Thanks, Harry, they’re narcissus,’ she smiled at him.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Harry almost choked on his pint.

‘Narcissus? It’s a type of daffodil, honestly Harry, I know they're only muggle plants but do you pay attention to anything other than quidditch?’

‘No I know, I- sorry, just sounds a lot like... Well nevermind I guess.’ He trailed off, _it sounds a lot like Narcissa_. ‘They smell nice, anyway.’

Ron, as impeccably timed as ever, distracted him completely by handing him another beer, and promptly swapping the topic of Harry’s train of thought from one Malfoy to another.

‘How was your parole meeting? Get anyone dangerous?

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and reached down to scratch the back of his neck, his classic move for when he was feeling nervous or uncomfortable, or when Hermione asked him why he hadn’t finished his homework yet. Of course, she hadn’t needed to ask him _that_ in a while.

‘It’s, er... Draco Malfoy,’ he mumbled.

Ron let out a big boom of laughter, making both Harry and Hermione jump out of their seats.

‘For a second there, mate, I thought you said you had _Malfoy_ as your parolee!’ Ron was still laughing, almost crying with how hilarious he obviously found Harry’s unfortunate situation. Hermione, however, wasn’t laughing. Harry thought that she almost looked guilty at the news of his being assigned his arch-nemesis.

‘Erm, well, I did, mate. It’s Malfoy. Robards gave me Malfoy.’

That sobered Ron up quickly enough. His face suddenly empty and blank, but Harry could see the gears turning in his brain sure enough, rapidly trying to process the - surely - impossible information that Harry had just dumped on him.

‘Bu- but can you not request a change? A- a- or go to Kingsley?’ Ron was gobsmacked it seemed, unable to process the news of Harry’s misfortune and unable to make his way through a sentence without stumbling over the words.

‘No can do, mate, I already went to Robards and he said it was signed off by Kingsley too. Saw him come out of a meeting with Robards just before I went in actually.’ Harry turned to look at Hermione at this: she still looked guilty at this, and wasn’t meeting Harry’s eye.

‘Hermione… you knew about this didn’t you?’ Harry wasn’t an almost-fully-trained auror for nothing, and he could definitely spot her being a bit shifty.

‘I… um… yes I did. It was me who suggested assigning you and Malfoy to Kingsley in the first place.’ She finally managed to look Harry in the eye, and the level of guilt he saw was almost enough for him to feel sorry for her. Almost. Ron on the other hand…

‘MIONE! How could you? The ferret and Harry?! Were you not there the entire time we were at Hogwarts? They’ll kill each other in a week!’

‘Yeah I have to admit, Mione, this is a new level of bullshit, even from you,’ Harry agreed, unable to hide the complete and utter _betrayal_ he felt from his best friend here.

‘But it’s not! You have to understand; Harry is the best choice to assign to Draco!’

‘And that’s another thing,’ Ron continued on his rant, ‘why the bloody hell are you calling him _Draco_? Like he never called you m- er… that word! You hated him too! Punched him in the face!'

‘People change, Ron, and I think he deserves as much of a second chance as anyone else!’

‘Oh yeah? And how would you possibly know how much he’s changed? You haven’t seen that ferrety face since the trials!’

Even Harry had to admit that Ron was right here, and he’d learnt early on to _never_ go against Hermione in an argument, but for the sake of bearing witness to another domestic between the two, he intervened.

‘Alright, alright, let’s not get carried away here, I’m sure Mione didn’t mean to leave her knife hanging in my back when she stabbed me-’

‘Hey!’

‘-BUT, I can kind of see where she’s coming from in a roundabout way, Ron. I hate the guy but he didn’t seem as much of an arse when he came in for the initial meeting, and I know out of everyone in the office I’ll be the one who’s least likely to put him on the next boat back to Azkaban-’

‘ _Thank_ you, Harry,’ Hermione interrupted yet again.

‘But that still doesn’t mean I don’t forgive you for going behind my back and not at least warning me about it, Mione!’ Harry finished, rounding off on her.

Hermione winced at that, ‘I know it wasn’t the best move, Harry, but it all moved so quickly once I’d had the initial idea and mentioned it to Kingsley. It all happened in no time at all and before I knew it Draco was out of Azkaban and on his way to your office!’ she turned to her husband, ‘and I _know_ all the awful things he’s said and done, love, but the whole point of the war was to get over these rivalries and move past silly prejudices drilled into everyone for so long. You know I’ve been working with Headmistress McGonagall about inter-house unity since the war and we’re _finally_ starting to get through to them all! The older years were easier as most of them fought in the battle, or their parents or siblings did, but the younger ones are finally starting to follow in their footsteps! And if keeping Draco Malfoy out of Azkaban by assigning him to Harry for his parole will help in any way, then so be it!’

Hermione finished her mini rant with a flourish and plopped back down into her seat, unaware that her impassioned speech had caused her to stand. Ron and Harry just sat there in silence, staring at her. They knew well enough that Mione on a mission was certainly not one to go up against, but since she became a firm fixture in the office of the Minister of Magic she’d become even more formidable. 

‘Alright, Mione, you win,’ Harry conceded eventually, ‘but that doesn’t mean I’ll be nice to the git!’

_Friday afternoon: three days later_

Draco Malfoy, Harry decided, was quite possibly the worst person he could have been assigned for this parole bullshit. Kingsley and Hermione be damned.

But having him sit there, chattering on about whatever it was Harry had asked him (he’d already forgotten, _Merlin_ he really was a shit Auror), Harry couldn’t help but examine every inch of his appearance.

Malfoy had obviously been out of Azkaban long enough to recover from the starvation diet and malnutrition, if anything, Harry would say that Malfoy had even developed a bit of a pouch. Not that that was a bad thing of course, after so long with his stomach concaving inwards from lack of food, it was nice to see someone post-Azkaban with the faint curve of a healthy, full belly. The pointed angles that had been so quintessentially Malfoy back at school had softened as a result, too, but still looked like they could cut if you brushed along them. The luminous silver of his hair was blonder, dirtier, polluted with strands of gold. He no longer looked like a direct clone of his father, and _thank Merlin_ for that; the further _Draco_ could distance himself from _Lucius_ , the better.

Then there was the clothes. The clothes that were so distinctly _muggle_ , Harry knew that if Lucius could see his son now he’d faint from shock. His long legs were encased in black skinny jeans so tight it looked like they’d been sprayed onto him, his top half was clothed in an equally tight white t-shirt that hugged him everywhere in the best way, he had a deliciate, silver chain around his neck, and huge black combat boots on his feet. The black leather jacket, of course, what else? had been shrugged over the back of his chair upon arrival. But what struck Harry most, what he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from, were the _tattoos_. It seemed like every inch of Malfoy’s arms were covered in them, and Harry was suddenly very grateful that Malfoy hadn’t decided on a long sleeved top when he got dressed this morning. Harry could even see the tips of a couple of tattoos curling around Malfoy’s neck, and all of a sudden he wanted nothing more in the world than to see exactly where they led to.

There was simply just more to Malfoy now. More of _what_ , exactly, he couldn’t tell, but there was definitely more of something, and it was truly excellent.

‘...and then I jumped on the back of an erumpent and we rode off into the sunset.’

‘What?’ Harry snapped out of his train of thought at the _bizarre_ wisp of a sentence he caught, cheeks burning slightly at the distinct knowledge that he’d been staring.

‘Really, Potter. Why am I here suffering through this infernal meeting if you won’t even dignify me with your undivided attention? I had been trying to answer your question regarding employment, but you seemed to doze off. Is the subject of my employ so boring to you? You’d think the ministry would be most interested to know the jobs of their Death Eaters, no? Honestly it’s like you expected me to fail. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you so, but I've been working there a few weeks now. Did my first tattoo yesterday.’

‘What? No, no, no, I didn’t expect that I promise, I guess I just got a bit lost in my own head. I’m sorry, please, tell me more?’

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at that, they changed from a soft silver to a stormy grey. _Wait what? Since when am I noticing the different shades of his boring grey eyes?_

‘If my employment is so obviously snooze-worthy, how am I to know you won’t doze off yet again?’ He snapped at Harry.

‘I didn’t doze off, I was just thinking about things,’

‘What things?’

‘It doesn’t matter, carry on with your chattering.’

‘Excuse me? Malfoy’s do not _chatter_.’ He said the word with such disdain, Harry almost flinched.

‘Oh really, could’ve had me fooled.’

‘Well it wouldn’t take much to fool someone as simple as you now would it?’

‘Hey! I’m a fully qualified Auror!’

‘Fully? I was under the impression that you had to complete your parole training to gain that title.’

‘No - well, yes, but - oh you’re such a git Malfoy!’

‘My, my, a _fully qualified auror_ just called me a git! Should I swoon?’

‘NO! Just - ugh!’ Harry groaned in frustration, pulling at his hair. How was Malfoy still able to get under his skin so quickly, so effectively, after all this time? Taking a deep breath, he continued much more calmly. ‘Please Malfoy, tell me about this job you’ve got.’

‘I already _had_ , but seeing as you did not see fit to listen the first time, I suppose I must; I am the newest artist at Black Lotus Tattoos.’

Harry sat bolt upright at that. ‘Um, what?’ He squeaked.

‘Black Lotus Tattoos? It’s on Diagon Alley, been there a while I think, took over from Fortescue's after the war.’

‘Yes I know where it is.’

Harry was reeling, how could this be happening? How could Malfoy possibly have got a job at the tattoo parlour he was booked into for Sunday afternoon? An appointment he’d had booked for weeks, still having to pluck up insane amounts of courage just to take a trip down Diagon Alley. And now supposedly Malfoy would be there too? Watching him? _Laughing_ at him?

He was smirking at him again, apparently finding Harry’s mental battle a highly entertaining sight.

‘Good. Well. I suppose you’ll be wanting my rota?’

‘Yes! Er- yeah… for records.’ Harry jumped at the chance. _Now I can find out if he’s working without sounding like a creep if I ask!_

Malfoy smirked again, before pulling out what looked suspiciously like a-

‘Malfoy, is that a muggle phone?’

‘Why yes it is, _Potter_ , it’s where I get emailed my rota and payslips.’

‘Right, right, I know that’ Malfoy copied out his weekly schedule onto a piece of spare parchment on Harry’s desk and slid it over to him. He tried not to breath such an obvious sigh of relief at the sight of a completely blank Sunday.

‘Why are you so tired anyway? Hot date yesterday? That’s a bit rogue even for you, Potter; on a school night!’

‘What are you talking about?’ Harry frowned at him, _date? Where’s he got that from?_

‘A date? On a school night? Very unlike you to break the rules, I must say.’ Malfoy was frowning too, but in an angry, disapproving sort of way. ‘Although, with the amount of witches after the _Chosen One_ , I suppose you must break into weekdays to fit them all in!’

‘Er, no. No date… and no witches, anyway,’ Harry mumbled, _what was he saying?_ Was he really trying to suggest to Malfoy that he…?

Whatever he was saying seemed to have an effect on Malfoy to say the least. He was suddenly very tense and uneasy, no longer looking Harry in the eye, squirming around in his seat. The confident, puffed-up prick was gone, and in his place was a very timid, insecure man; Draco Malfoy was unrecognisable in seconds. In fact, it was only the platinum hair that convinced Harry that this wasn’t someone else using Polyjuice potion that had that instance worn off.

Harry cleared his throat and Malfoy almost jumped out of his skin.

‘I was, erm, babysitting. If you must know. My godson.’

Malfoy looked at him wide-eyed. Obviously confused as to why Harry was telling him this. Harry was confused too, why the hell was he telling Malfoy all this? What was it about him that always made him lose focus and lack judgement?

‘I look after him every Thursday evening so his grandmother can go to her book club. It’s no trouble really, he’s only three and I can put a film on and he goes straight to sleep.’ Harry was babbling now, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe someone had slipped some Babbling Beverage into his tea? That must be the only explanation, ‘unless it’s _Aladdin_ , of course, can’t get enough of that one y’know, makes me sing along to all the songs with him.’

‘Potter, for the love of Merlin, why are you telling me?’

 _Good question_.

‘Just, er, letting you know it wasn’t a date,’ Harry trailed off, he didn’t think he had _ever_ said anything so meek and pathetic in his life! Least of all to _Draco_ sodding _Malfoy_!

‘Well. Great. Good for you, Potter. If that’s all you needed then I guess I should… go?’

‘Erm, yeah. That might be best. See you next week, Malfoy.’

And with that, Malfoy stood and tried his very best to not run from the room. Harry couldn’t blame him at all, if _his_ childhood rival had almost just hinted that he wasn’t too exclusively interested in witches, _he’d_ run from the room too.


	4. the horribly obtuse name of "roonil wazlib"

~D~

_‘A date? On a school night? Very unlike you to break the rules, I must say… although, with the amount of witches after the Chosen One, I suppose you must break into weekdays to fit them all in!’_

Draco was frowning, why was he babbling like this? Did someone slip some Babbling Beverage into his tea? And what did he care if the Chosen One was on a date?

‘Er, no. No date… and no witches, any way,’ Potter was mumbling back to him. _What? No witches?_ Was the Chosen One really trying to suggest something here?

Oh Merlin, _wizards?_

Draco thought he might spontaneously combust.

Harry _sodding_ Potter liked blokes? Was that what he’d just said?

No way. There was no sodding _way_ that’s what he just said.

_Potter?_

No.

There wasn’t a Death Eater’s chance in Hogwarts at that.

Although, Draco supposed, _he_ had been a Death Eater at Hogwarts... 

_'Ahem_.'

Potter cleared his throat and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d been so far inside his own head, spiralling at the thought of _Potter_ being… being- that he hadn’t noticed himself slumping inwards, losing the confidence that he tried so hard to portray at all times, lest someone look too closely and see how broken he still was.

‘I was, erm, babysitting. If you must know. My godson.’ Potter said, looking a little confused. If Draco didn’t know any better he’d think someone had snuck in and _confundus_ ’d Potter whilst they both sat there. Draco would get the blame for that no doubt. But why was Potter telling him about his godson?

‘I look after him every Thursday evening so his grandmother can go to her book club. It’s no trouble really, he’s only three and I can put a film on and he goes straight to sleep. Unless it’s _Aladdin_ , of course, can’t get enough of that one y’know, makes me sing along to all the songs with him.’

‘Potter, for the love of Merlin, why are you telling me?’ Draco finally managed to get a word in edgeways to Potter’s babbling. Maybe they’d both been drinking Babbling Beverage?

‘Just, er, letting you know it wasn’t a date,’ Potter trailed off, suddenly looking very insecure, as though he couldn’t quite believe that he’d just divulged such precious information to a _Death Eater_ , and _Draco_ at that.

‘Well. Great. Good for you, Potter. If that’s all you needed then I guess I should… go?’

‘Erm, yeah. That might be best. See you next week, Malfoy.’

And with that, Draco stood as quickly as he could (whilst still remaining polite, of course) and tried his very best to not run from the room, but he was certain that he couldn’t have got out of that room faster if he’d apparated. His childhood rival had almost just _maybe_ hinted that he wasn’t too interested in witches, and Draco was going to need a _very_ strong drink if he had any hopes of forgetting everything Potter had just said.

~H~

‘What can I get for you, sir? Oh! Harry!’

Harry looked up and met a pair of bright blue eyes shining at him from beneath a mass of floppy, dirty blonde hair. He smiled.

‘Hey Sam,’

‘The usual?’ Sam was already bustling about with shots of espresso, chocolate, and steaming up some milk.

‘Please,’ Harry’s smile grew wider.

‘Go take a seat, I’ll bring it over to you,’ Sam winked at him and was turned back around to make the coffee before Harry could even register it.

Still smiling to himself, and well aware that he must look a complete and utter fool for it, Harry made his way over to one of the tables for two next to the big window at the front of the coffee shop. _Lou’s_ coffee shop was one of Harry’s favourites. It had huge windows that let in all the light, beautiful natural wood table tops, and the best coffee this side of Beauxbatons. The coffee bar itself boasted a white granite top and a black and white checkered tile wall. The shelves were made from the same natural wood as the table tops and were stuffed full of bags of coffee, various loose leaf teas, and an abundance of cups and saucers (none of which matched). There were two espresso coffee machines, pour overs, filters, hot water boilers, all in a wonderful uniform of copper that sparkled out at you, as freshly polished as the day they all arrived. And this is all without mentioning the plants that seemed to cover every single available surface in the whole joint.

Yes, this was definitely one of Harry’s favourite places.

The most perfect looking oat milk mocha edged its way into his eyeline and Harry looked up at another one of the reasons that _Lou’s_ was one of his favourite places.

Sam sat down in the seat opposite him and took a sip of his own drink.

‘Are you allowed to just sit down and join your favourite customers like this?’ Harry asked incredulously, a smile in his voice. 

‘Bold of you to assume you’re my favourite, Harry, but I’m actually on my fifteen. So it was lucky timing from you arriving when you did really.’

‘Oh come on, you know I know I’m your favourite,’ Harry teased.

Sam rolled his eyes in response, ‘I don’t know who told you such blasphemous lies, but they’re wrong.’

‘Hm, I’ll make sure to let Luke know next time I see him.’ Harry sat back in his seat, letting the warmth of the mocha seep into his fingers.

‘Pffft, Luke doesn’t know when to keep his nose out and his mouth shut. You know him better than to trust a single thing he says, Harry,’ but Sam’s eyes had widened and all of a sudden he was a little more on edge.

‘Alright, alright, I’ll drop it, no need to get all upset,’ Harry chuckled, enjoying the very obvious discomfort from Sam. Clearly Luke has been onto something when he’d mentioned a couple of weeks ago about a certain _crush_ that a certain _barista_ had on a certain _chosen one_.

Apparently this seemed to soothe Sam a little, as he visibly relaxed into his seat and took another sip of his drink. Deciding he looked entirely too comfortable like that, Harry thought it was high time he summoned up some of that famous Gryffindor bravery.

‘Listen… Sam. I wanted to ask you something,’ Harry began, sitting forwards in his seat.

Sam tensed up again, eyes widened, and knuckles decidedly a little whiter around the handle of his drink. Harry cleared his throat, he was suddenly much _much_ more nervous.

‘How do you fancy... maybe... goigfodinersotim?’ 

He cringed inwardly and tried not to let it show on his face, but Sam’s expression faded from anxious into one of confusion. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried again at half the speed.

‘Do you maybe fancy going for dinner sometime? With me?’

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up at the same time as the corner of his mouth quirks into a tiny upwards smile, too quickly for him to acknowledge it before schooling his expression into one that he no doubt hoped was less enthusiastic and slightly more nonchalant, much to the bemusement of Harry.

‘Ye- _ahem_ … yes, that would be lovely. Harry.’ Sam cast his eyes downwards to his coffee and Harry caught the tiny half-smile in the corner of his mouth again.

Grinning, Harry sat back once again to finish off his drink. _A date. An actual date_ . He wasn’t sure exactly what had spurned him on to ask Sam out right now. Sure, he’d known for a couple of weeks now that Sam had been harbouring a minor crush on him, having been told by the _wonderful_ Luke, but until now he’d had no urgent desire to act on it. He liked coming in for coffee and a pecan plait on his way into work in the mornings, and he liked that it always seemed to be Sam serving him, and he liked the way that his hair flopped over in front of his eyes; he always felt the urge to brush it back and tuck it behind an ear. Clearly some force in the universe was pushing him to go on his first date in months, and it would just be rude of Harry to not divulge the universe.

‘Are you finished?’ Sam broke Harry out of his thoughts.

‘Huh?’

‘Your coffee, are you done? My fifteen is up so I’ll take our cups if you’re done, but no rush,’ Sam was beaming at him again.

‘Oh,’ Harry glanced down at his mocha, ‘er, yeah I’m done. Thanks.’

‘No worries, I’m free Wednesday. Pick me up at 8?’ Still beaming.

‘Er, yeah. Sure, I’ll see you then.’ Harry beamed back.

And with that, Harry was alone at his table once again, not entirely sure how he had just participated in the past fifteen minutes of conversation but not upset either way.

Tossing a few galleons onto the table to cover the drink, Harry stood and left the coffeehouse, and resolutely decided that he simply could not go any further with his day without informing Tweedle Dum of his brand new, shiny date.

***

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had flourished incredibly in the years since the war. 

With a brief hiatus in Weasley management in the direct aftermath of the fighting whilst George grieved for Fred, the shop came back stronger than ever. Even more so once Ron joined the team with his business qualifications from the Open University and the NEWTs he somehow passed from Hogwarts. It had helped them all immensely when George had stumbled upon a hidden notebook full of half-brained crazy schemes for new inventions that Fred had apparently been working on alongside his inventions with George, and with a few small amendments, the products had exploded into their very own range within the store. Even from beyond the grave, Fred was still helping them out and making sure pranks were being pulled with the utmost finesse. Harry was sure that McGonagall was rueing the tears she’d shed at the funeral with every WWW product she confiscated in the halls of Hogwarts.

Spotting two heads of fiery red hair as soon as he opens the door, Harry grins.

‘Harry! To what do we owe this pleasure?’ George Weasley. Prankster and inventor extraordinaire.

‘Oh, you know me, just in the neighbourhood and I thought I’d drop in on my favourite Diagon establishment.’

‘Riiiight,’ Ron draws out the word, ‘and then after you’d had your coffee you thought you’d come mingle with the common folk?’ Harry knows he’s being teased but hey, he’s in a good mood, he’s got a date, he’ll indulge him.

Running his hand through his hair and down towards the back of his neck, Harry’s grin only gets wider at them.

‘ _Potter_ , mate, why do you look like you’ve just got laid?’ George is grinning back at him, like he’s been let in on a huge secret.

Ron whirls back around to look at Harry again, cross examining every single micro-feature, every twitch in his gestures, and whatever he seems to find in Harry’s face satisfies him somewhat.

‘It’s not sex, it’s a date’ Ron states, leaning back onto his heels matter-of-fact in his assessment. After so many years joined at the hip, Ron and Harry had developed a pretty accurate way of reading each other so completely without a single word. It pissed Hermione off to no end, but it was the closest Harry had ever felt to being a true Legilimens without ever actually attempting any proper training after the farce that had been lessons with Snape in his fifth year. Harry respected the man, after what he had seen of his memories during the Battle of Hogwarts, but Severus Snape should never have pretended to be an Occlumency teacher (Ron even favoured the theory that Snape had been _opening_ Harry’s mind rather than closing it, but Ron hadn’t seen all the memories Harry had).

George let out a scandalised gasp. ‘A date! Oh, little, baby, not-quite brother! Who’s the lucky… girl? Boy? Who? Who!’

‘Calm down! Calm down, nothing to get excited about, just a guy from _Lou’s_ , that’s all, we’re going for dinner.’ Harry laughed and sighed and smiled and ran his hands through his hair again.

‘Nothing to get excited about?’ Ron was in disbelief. He turned to George, ‘Nothing to get excited about he says! Like he’s not had a date in over a year and a half, like we’ve not been trying to set him up with every witch, wizard, and muggle we can!’

‘Ron! Keep your voice down, we don’t need the whole shop to hear!’ Harry chastised.

‘The whole shop? Mate, I’m telling the whole of _wizarding Britain!_ ’ Ron shouted the last two words, causing at least five people in the shop to turn around and glare at them. Harry even saw one mother put her hands over the ears of her son (but he was looking at the WWW brand fireworks, so Harry wasn’t too sure what she was hoping to achieve by protecting her son from Ron’s shouting when he clearly had his sights set on much louder noises).

‘What do you think you’re going to achieve by all this yelling, hey?’

‘Look, mate, just because you started making your way through all of our siblings, I won’t have it be said that we’re not supportive of who you date’

‘Hah, yeah, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sheer _shock_ of finding out you got over our Ginny by getting under our _Charlie_!’ George tags on.

‘Alright, alright,’ Harry raises his hands in submission, cheeks flaming, ‘But I did nothing that wasn’t encouraged thank you very much!’ But Harry was properly laughing with them both now. Yes, his love life had been a complete joke (and by that: non-existent) for the past three years. Yes, he hadn’t had a girlfriend - or boyfriend - since Ginny - _or Charlie_ \- in three years, and the number of dates he’d had since then could be counted on one hand. But was the news of his first date in a year and a half really big enough that Ron now wanted to put out a notice to the _Prophet_?

‘Relax, Harry, we’re just teasing. Living vicariously through you is the only option for us now. Live fast and date everyone you can whilst you still can, before you’re wifed up like us two losers here.’

Harry huffed at them both. ‘Right, well if you’re both just going to make fun then I won’t tell you all about _Sam_ and definitely won’t drop in after our date on _Wednesday_ to tell you fishwives every juicy detail.’

And with that, to the protests of ‘Sam?!’ and ‘Harry, wait!’ and ‘You’d better be over first thing Thursday morning’ and ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do young man!’, Harry ran from the shop laughing, and made his way back down Diagon Alley towards the apparition point.

~D~

‘Oi, Malfoy! Get your arse on the front while I go have my fag break.’

Draco rolled his eyes at Eddie, making his way to sit at the stool behind the front desk of the parlour. Eddie grinned at him and jumped down from the stool.

‘Cheers. You’ll fit in here alright if you keep that up. Still can’t believe you don’t smoke.’ Eddie clapped him on the shoulder and made his way out back, already pulling his pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket.

Signing, Draco sat down on the stool. He’d been working at the Black Lotus ever since his release from Azkaban months ago, at the suggestion from his first parole officer from, unsurprisingly, the same pamphlet Potter had handed over in _their_ first meeting. It was presumably the fact that Draco had made his way through four other parole officers before landing in Potter’s office that his employment information had simply failed to follow him. Even still, the tattoo parlour was honest enough work, and he’d been there long enough now that Eddie was beginning to trust him with the gun on customers. Draco had always had an affinity for art, Merlin knows he had had enough evidence of that in his studio at the Manor before the Ministry had seized the place, so a couple of months practise on fake skin and Eddie had been happy enough for him to get on with some small designs on paying customers.

Torn between keeping an eye on the street outside and flicking through the appointment book for the previous week, two things seemed to happen almost simultaneously which were what Draco would class as _unusual_.

First, a figure strolling past, with thick, unruly black hair that just _begged_ to fall victim to a few tonnes of Sleekeazy’s hair potion, abruptly came to a stop right outside the shop and gazed up at the sign from behind some disgustingly awful wire-rimmed glasses. Draco cursed the reflection of the sun flashing against the lenses preventing him from seeing any distinguishing feature on the bloke.

Second, Draco’s flipping through the appointment book meant that he arrived at the page of tomorrow’s appointments. Glancing down at the page, his eyes got stuck on the name of an appointment set for tomorrow afternoon under the horribly obtuse name of “Roonil Wazlib” - the most obvious of pseudonyms and only befitting two people that he could think of; Ronald Weasley, and… 

Grey eyes snapping back up to the figure frozen outside the shop, Draco cursed when he spotted that the figure was gone. Presumably strolling along on his merry way to whichever Merlin-forsaken establishment took his fancy.

Atrocious glasses and hair fit for a bird’s nest? Draco hadn’t spent six years at Hogwarts with a fierce rivalry to simply _forget_ said rival. No, it seemed that come tomorrow afternoon, the great Harry Potter would be making his way to Black Lotus Tattoos for his very own ink.

Taking out his mobile, Draco immediately set about swapping his Monday shift with the girl Ivy’s for the following afternoon. Oh yes, if Harry Potter was getting a tattoo at _his shop_ , Draco was most certainly going to be there to witness it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> installment number four of this lil thing  
> comments and kudos appreciated as always xoxo


	5. motus atramento

~H~

It was Sunday afternoon. A whole thirty five hours and… twenty three minutes since Harry had asked Sam out on a date, thirty five hours and twenty minutes since a knot had appeared in his stomach, and Harry couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.

He knew he was excited, this was his first actual proper date in a year and a half! And it’s not like Sam wasn’t easy on the eyes, with his bright blue eyes, and his soft, floppy blond hair.

He knew that a date and a knot in your stomach usually meant butterflies and giddiness and excitement, but he couldn’t help himself from feeling uncomfortable with it; like the knot was telling him something else entirely.

It was also only fifteen minutes until he was really going to be late.

Today was the big day. The day he’d waited for for months, ever since he’d made the appointment. Today was the day he got a tiny stag on the inside of his wrist - his left one - to remind him of his parents and everything they stood for. It was part one of his master plan to get all three animals, his own personal zoo: a stag, a dog, and a wolf, all dancing around his left forearm. He’d get the lily flowers later, but for now it was all about the zoo.

When he’d explained the reasoning behind it being his left arm to Hermione, she’d cried. And then he’d cried. And when Ron had come in and asked what was wrong, he cried too. It was an old muggle belief that the wedding band goes on the fourth finger of the left hand as it’s the only finger that was connected directly to the heart. Having permanent representations of his parents, Remus, and Sirius dancing along his forearm, along the same veins and nerves as the ring finger, felt like they’d be tapping in to the same beliefs.

The left forearm was also the place Voldemort had chosen for his Dark Mark, so Harry tattooing himself with images of the ones he loved seemed like one last “ _fuck you_ ”, in knowing that he would never mark him - or anyone else - again. Besides, he had _quite_ enough marks from ol’ Voldy thank you very much, Harry felt like his body was covered in the scars of his war against him. It was high time he marked himself for a change.

Harry checked his watch. Five minutes till he was really, _really_ late now. Grabbing his wand and securing it in its holster at his side, Harry took one last look around Grimmauld and its grime, and left through the front door to apparate to Diagon Alley. 

***

_You’d think with how long it’s been since the war and how often I’m out and about, people would get used to seeing me_.

Harry dodged around some whispering fans yet again, cursing how far away Diagon’s designated apparition point was from the majority of the shops, it’s like the alley was trying to force him to be mobbed by reporters and fans. In fact, Harry was _this close_ to just tearing through the anti-apparition wards that coated the street and apparating straight into the tattoo parlour. At least there he wouldn’t get asked “what it really felt like to have the killing curse thrown at you”. As if he wanted to relive that every time he needed to pick up a new quill or book (although unlikely) or visit Ron and George at the shop.

Spotting the parlour, just where Florean Fortesque’s had been, just like Malfoy had said, Harry’s legs seemed to stop working of their own free will. Harry frowned down at his feet.

This was nonsense - why was he so nervous? It wasn’t like Malfoy would be there, he’d checked his work schedule the day before, and Merlin knew he was hellbent on these tattoos, he’d had the designs picked out for about two years now. But it had still taken him just as long to book the appointment, and then months again to convince himself to stop postponing it. Whatever it was, fate had decided that today was the day that Harry Potter would _not_ chicken out of getting his little stag.

Taking a deep breath, Harry opened the door, still not quite believing that his brain was allowing him to go through with this at last. The tinkling of the bell snapped him out of his reverie, bringing his green eyes up and locking straight on to a pair of steely grey.

‘Malfoy?’ 

‘ _Quelle surprise_ , Potter! You’re acting like you didn’t know I worked here.’

‘No, I… of course I did. I just- I mean- I didn’t think you were working today?’ Harry managed to squeak out. Malfoy’s casual flippance with French did nothing to help out Harry’s ability to think clearly.

‘Last minute rota change,’ Malfoy brushed it off with a wave of his hand. How could he be so nonchalant when Harry was seconds away from hyperventilating over here? ‘I had to cover Ivy but it’s no big deal.’

Harry gulped. ‘Right… well. I’m here for my appointment.’

‘Are you sure? You’re not looking for Weasley’s place? You didn’t get lost on your way? Malfoy sneered, and Harry tried very hard not to visibly relax; a Malfoy sneer was familiar territory, something he knew he could deal with.

‘Do you treat all your paying customers like this? I can take my business elsewhere,’ Harry glared back and made to leave. Fortunately for them both, the man who was obviously the owner or manager or whoever had the misfortune of being in charge of Malfoy burst into the room to stop Harry from leaving.

‘No no! Mister Potter, no need to do that. Draco here was just having a little practical joke, weren’t you, Draco?’ The man laughed and gave Malfoy such a pointed look that Harry was sure he’d have been scared of if he’d been on the receiving end, auror training or not.

Malfoy, however, returned it with just a scathing look, before turning back round to Harry. ‘Eddie’s right. I apologise… _mister_ Potter.’

Harry had never heard a less sincere apology, but he was going to take the win. Smirking at Malfoy, Harry turned back round to face the man - Eddie - and gave him his undivided attention. 

‘Like I said to _Draco_ ,’ Harry smirked and drew out the name, making a point that he was saying _Draco_ and not _Malfoy_ , or _ferret_ , or anything worse, ‘I’m here for my appointment.’

Eddie sprang into action. ‘Oh! Of course, well I had planned to do it myself mister Potter-’ 

‘Harry, please.’

‘-right, _Harry_ , but I’m in the middle of one right now- just waiting for the charm to settle before I can finish. You know how it is,’ Eddie gave a somewhat nervous laugh.

But Harry just stared back at him blankly, actually he _didn’t_ know how magical tattoos worked. He probably could’ve put a bit more research into them in the months he’d had before he committed but when had he ever done anything other than jump in head first?

‘Right, of course,’ he settled on, hoping his general unease and confusion was lost on the two men infront of him, but judging by the way Malfoy was now narrowing his eyes and turning up the corner of his mouth ever so slightly, he wasn’t sure he’d completely got away with it.

‘So I’ll be doing you today Potter, unless you have a problem with that?’ Harry gulped. He was certain that Malfoy’s choice of words and their double meaning weren’t a coincidence, and he had definitely dropped a gauntlet at trying to goad Harry into backing down. _You wish, pretty boy._

‘Not at all, I trust you’re experienced enough to do me properly?’ It was Malfoy’s turn to gulp this time, his eyes widened before schooling themselves back to a neutral.

‘After you, _Draco_.’ Harry smirked, if Malfoy was going to play it that way, Harry wasn’t above sinking to the same level.

Gauntlet accepted.

***

Sitting down into the chair, Harry stretched his left arm out onto the rest next to him, wrist up. Malfoy also sat, on his stool, gathering the equipment he needed before fixing Harry with his steely eyes.

Eyes that now seemed doomed to pop up and follow him around for the rest of his life, no matter where he went.

Harry desperately tried to get some moisture back into his traitorous mouth, which had chosen now - _of course_ , right when those sodding eyes were piercing into his very _soul_ \- to become drier than a bloody sphinx in the bloody saharah.

Wincing slightly at the sudden cold fingers at his wrist, Harry drew in a sharp breath and tore his attention back to where the blond head, previously bowed in deep concentration, had snapped up at the sound of Harry’s pain.

‘You alright? I’m not hurting you am I?’ His eyes were filled with an emotion indiscernible for Harry.

He shook him off. ‘Just took me by surprise is all.’ 

Malfoy cast one more look over Harry’s face, before strengthening the numbing charms around his wrist. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever feel his wrist again at this point. When the gun started up once more, Malfoy looked up again to check Harry’s pain level. Seeming satisfied with Harry’s lack of response, he continued with the drawing.

Malfoy was… concerned? More than just the usual tattoo artist to tattooee that's for sure.

And Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so _fucking_ sexy.

It wasn’t to say that the thought of finding a bloke hot was setting him on edge, in fact he was very conscious of his own bisexuality; he’d discovered it quite by accident after that night with a few too many fire whiskeys and too few clothes with a _certain_ dragon-taming Weasley brother. Then, Harry supposed, there was the upcoming date with Sam to contend with.

No no, it was the thought of it being Draco _sodding_ Malfoy. Childhood rival. Arch nemesis.

Definitely not someone to be finding _hot_.

Of course, Harry wasn’t blind. As soon as he’d figured out he was bi, he’d realised that the reason behind what had felt like pure hatred towards the boy whilst they’d been in school had really been rather thinly veiled attraction on his part.

“You only pull the pig tails of the ones you love” and all that hippogriff shit.

It really was hippogriff shit. It wasn’t even like anything was ever going to happen between them; Harry was Malfoy’s _parole officer_ , first and foremost, and if ever there was a rule Harry wouldn’t break, that was it. Highly unprofessional. And if he wanted to make Head Auror by the time he was thirty five like Robards and Kingsley and the whole of wizarding Britain expected him to, he needed to keep his head down, his nose clean, and nowhere near the temptations of Draco Malfoy.

So Harry won’t even think about it. Not here, and most definitely not now. _Or ever_.

He most certainly does not need to be having a crisis about the hotness of his former childhood rival who sat in his office as if he owned it every Friday afternoon.

Who was now needling a tiny, magical stag into the inside of his left wrist, and looking up at him every so often to judge his pain numbing charm with eyes too grey and too soft for Harry to not want to roll himself up in them.

 _Sam, think about Sam_ , Harry willed himself. Focusing on blue eyes instead of grey, dirty blond hair instead of platinum, small and slight instead of long and lean. If he concentrated hard enough, Harry could almost convince himself. Almost. 

Malfoy cleared his throat. ‘So, what’s with the stag?’

Harry blinked. ‘It’s, er, private.’ He cringed inwardly, could this day get any worse? _Your tattoo could get infected_ , his brain helpfully supplied.

‘No shit, Potter, the inside of one’s wrist is a very private place.’ Grey eyes flicked back up to meet him.

 _No shit_ , Harry echoed, unable to focus his eyes on anything other than Malfoy’s eyes, or Malfoy’s long fingers gently holding onto his wrist.

‘You’re not in any pain are you? I’m not hurting you?’ There were those eyes again.

‘No. No… I’m fine,’ Harry responded quickly, a little too quickly for his liking but Malfoy hadn’t seemed to notice. Instead, he reached for some kind of cloth to wipe Harry’s wrist down. Harry tried not to shiver at the touch of Malfoy’s cool fingers on his now highly sensitive wrist.

‘Good.’

‘When, er, when will it start to move?’ Trying to distract himself more effectively, Harry thought it might be best for him to find out what exactly the process of getting a magical was.

He saw the corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitch up before schooling itself back into total concentration. _Great_ , he was laughing at him, he definitely noticed earlier.

‘Once I finish up the ink, I’ll cast the charms that make it into a proper wizarding tattoo, giving it movement and tuning it into your emotions and all that. That’s why the charms need time to settle, like Eddie said before? They’re tuned into each witch or wizard’s magical core.’

 _Hmm_ , Harry nodded. The explanation made sense, without the charms the tattoos would just be plain old muggle tattoos. He’ll admit, the whole thought of having his little zoo trotting around his arm was mostly the main reasoning behind his wanting the tattoos in the first place. Having tiny representations of his dad, Sirius, and Remus running around a bed of lilies and keeping him company, and matching to his moods? Harry couldn’t wait.

But the excitement and passion that Malfoy felt for the process, the fire Harry could see behind his grey eyes, he couldn’t help but feel almost _enchanted_ by the sight of it. Of him.

Malfoy stayed silent, looking back down at Harry’s wrist as he continued with the antlers of the stag. Only the buzz of the tattoo gun filled the gap between them now, but Harry didn’t feel as though the silence was uncomfortable. If anything, he felt the most comfortable he’d felt with Malfoy since their meeting in Madame Malkin’s robe shop when they were eleven.

‘Right,’ Malfoy’s voice came out of nowhere and almost gave Harry half a heart attack, ‘you’re all done with the ink. Shall I get started on the movement charm?’

‘Erm, yeah. Sure.’

‘Hold still, Potter,’ Malfoy instructed as he took out his wand and spoke the incantation, ‘ _Motus atramento_.’

Almost immediately, Harry could feel a tingle on this wrist where the ink was. White tendrils of magic drifted out of the end of Malfoy’s wand and snaked their way around his wrist, making Harry gasp at the pulses of sensation given out each time they touched the ink. Harry was enthralled, he’d never seen something so purely _magical_ to look at. Then the tendrils thrust themselves into the ink itself and Harry hissed at the shock of it. Still pulsing as the magic took effect, the stag began to stomp its front hooves and shake out its antlers, before taking a few tentative steps along his wrist bone. He was sure he’d never forget the sight of this, the feeling of the new ink on his wrist being imbued with magic, for the rest of his days.

It didn’t escape him that it was _Malfoy’s_ magic that gave his little stag movement. Merlin. He might just pass out at that thought.

~D~

_Merlin if I don’t snap Potter out of this soon he might pass out on me_.

Draco had been glancing up every now and then, checking on Potter’s pain levels and topping up the pain-numbing charm on his wrist if and when it was needed after that initial pinch of pain he’d caused, but Potter’s face seemed to be fixed in a state of perpetual panic and confusion. Every so often their eyes would meet, but more often than not the green eyes were fixed solely onto Draco needling a stag into his wrist. It was much more than mildly distracting.

He cleared his throat. ‘So, what’s with the stag?’

Potter seemed to be taken aback. ‘It’s, er, private.’ he said, blinking at Draco.

A secret stag? Draco racked his memory, trying to come up with some kind of reasoning behind it, hadn’t there been something about a stag with one of Potter’s most infamous spells?

Sensing a prickle of discomfort in Potter from his charms, Draco thought best to steer away from the design; ‘No shit, Potter, the inside of one’s wrist is a very private place.’ His eyes flickered back up to Potter’s again, spotting them locked onto his once more, wide open and unreadable.

‘You’re not in any pain are you? I’m not hurting you?’ There was definitely something behind Potter’s eyes, but Draco couldn’t quite tell what. The last thing he needed was a complaint from Wonder Boy that he’d been neglecting his pain-numbing charms. Eddie would put him right the way back down the list of artists, that is, if he didn’t fire him straight away.

‘No. No… I’m fine,’

‘Good.’ Draco affirmed. He reached over to his side table for a cloth and wiped away the excess ink coming from Potter’s wrist.

‘When, er, when will it start to move?’

Draco had to concentrate very hard not to smirk at that. He had thought earlier that Potter had no clue how magical tattoos work from his reaction to Eddie mentioning the charms, but this just confirmed it.

‘Once I finish up the ink, I’ll cast the charms that make it into a proper wizarding tattoo, giving it movement and tuning it into your emotions and all that. That’s why the charms need time to settle, like Eddie said before? They’re tuned into each witch or wizard’s magical core.’

Potter nodded but he still looked panicked and confused. Draco continued with the stag.

They stayed in silence as Draco finished the antlers, only the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the space between them. He had to admit, this was the most comfortable he’d felt in the presence of anyone - _let alone the Boy Who Lived_ \- since the end of fifth year and his father’s imprisonment in Azkaban. His life and his choices hadn’t been stellar up until that point, by no means, but that summer before sixth year and ever since was, collectively, the worst time of his life. It was only now, sitting here needling a tiny stag into the wrist of Potter, that he felt his life finally start to be looking up.

Draco looked up at Potter again. The boy - _man_ , he supposed - had thankfully stopped the intense staring into what felt like Draco’s soul and was now fixed on the stag on his wrist. Draco couldn’t help but smile at the sight, Potter hadn’t even noticed that he’d finished the inking process.

‘Right,’ Draco’s voice boomed in the silence and Potter jumped a mile, ‘you’re all done with the ink. Shall I get started on the movement charm?’

‘Erm, yeah. Sure.’

‘Hold still, Potter.’ Draco took out his wand. The charm was, arguably, the easiest part about magical tattoos; it was straightforward and easy to learn, and took very little energy or concentration compared to other spells, as long as you pointed your wand in the right direction.

‘ _Motus atramento_ ,’

Potter gasped as the bright white tendrils of Draco’s magic snaked their way around his wrist, stroking their way along the edges of the stag before thrusting themselves into the very ink, which seemed to throb and pulse with the new energy from within it. The stag began by stomping its front hooves and shaking out its antlers, before taking a few tentative steps along Potter’s wrist bone, the movements making Potter hiss at the new sensations. Draco was no virgin when it came to tattoos, and he had a few magical ones himself; he had to admit, you never quite forgot the tingling thrill of a magical tattoo moving for the first time.

‘Amazing, isn’t it? The feeling of the magic. You never forget your first magical tattoo,’ Draco whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment but unable to stop himself.

‘Yeah,’ Potter breathed, when he looked up his green eyes were shining, ‘it’s incredible.’

Draco couldn’t help but smile. ‘Right well I’ll leave you to it for a few minutes for the charms to settle in with the ink and your own magic, and I’ll get the protective film to wrap it up and a cream for you to use whilst it heals.’

Potter nodded along with what Draco said, but by the way Potter didn’t take his eyes back off the stag on his wrist, he wasn’t too sure a single word he’d said had been heard. Draco stood up, chuckling softly to himself as he left the room to get the supplies. Of course, most wix reacted that way to their first magical tattoo, but Draco hadn’t expected Potter’s eyes to be quite so shiny, quite so green. It was a bit disarming but not altogether an unwelcome feeling.

Making his way back into the room, he could see Potter still fixed onto his wrist. As Draco took it back into his own hands, he heard Potter’s sharp intake of breath and felt rather than saw his eyes snap up to lock onto the top of Draco’s head.

Being as gentle as he could be, Draco took the wrapping and encased Potter’s wrist completely. Whilst the stag had been charmed, it wouldn’t be able to make it’s way beyond the wrist before being fully healed, but it could still circle the wrist if it so desired.

With his wrist wrapped up, Draco pressed the healing cream into Potter’s hand. ‘You’ll need to wash it with gentle soap and apply that twice a day for about two weeks, and make sure you _don’t_ scratch it no matter how itchy it gets! You’ll ruin the ink and I won’t have you complaining to Eddie about me when you ruin your own tattoo.’

Potter blinked up at him owlishly. Merlin, Draco couldn’t help thinking how green his eyes would truly be if only he’d get rid of those infernal glasses. Hadn’t he ever heard of eye correcting potions? Did he not wonder why no one else in the wizarding world had eye problems?

Draco cleared his throat. ‘Well, all that’s left to do is for you to pay… so…’

‘Oh, right. Yeah. I'll follow you.’

The two men walked back into the main reception. Eddie was behind the counter and looked up at them both when they came in, as if shocked that they’d both survived the appointment without one of them killing the other. Great support from his boss there.

Draco joined Eddie behind the counter and rang Potter up. ‘So… one small tattoo… and the movement charm… that’s twenty-seven galleons, Potter.’

‘Right. Here you go.’ He handed over the coins. ‘Thanks… Eddie, was it? See you Friday Malfoy.’ Potter gave a small smile at Draco before turning to leave.

It was only as the door had closed behind him that Draco noticed Potter had handed him a nice round thirty galleons instead of the twenty-seven he owed. Unsure what to do with the extra three galleons, Eddie seemed to take pity on him.

‘Y’know, kid, it’s considered rude in wizarding culture to refuse a tip.’

Draco looked up and Eddie was smiling at him, his eyes filled with more humour than Draco had ever seen. _A tip?_ Potter had tipped him. No matter how small, it was surely a sign that hell was currently freezing over. Draco looked back up to the retreating figure in the window.

And it was there, watching Harry sodding Potter walk away from the parlour, left wrist wrapped up in protective film, right hand clasping the healing cream, that Draco allowed himself to acknowledge for the first time just how attractive he really was.

Well shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been a very slow update and for that I am very sorry! please accept this extra long chapter as repayment for taking so long, I was away and then it was my birthday and now its been weeks <3  
> "motus atramento" literally means "ink movement" in Latin so it seemed like a good place to start w/ making up spells, and that tattoo aftercare is true! I looked it up! it's paraphrased ever so slightly but the gist is there  
> "quelle surprise" is generally a sarcastic "what a surprise"  
> comments/kudos appreciated as always and I will work very hard to not wait such a long time before updating again xoxo


	6. Harry's heart and it's occasional gymnastics

~H~

Harry had walked away from his tattoo appointment in a bit of a daze; healing cream in one hand, the other wrapped up tightly in what felt like muggle cling film, and a dumbstruck smile on his face.

In fact he spent the following two weeks in a daze, numbly making his way through his paperwork, file after file, without really reading anything written on them. If he had been a muggle, you could’ve told him all about wizards and Voldemort and magic and he wouldn’t have heard a word. The only reason he managed to eat was Hermione’s insistence on popping into his office every lunchtime, dragging him to the canteen, and forcing him to buy enough for lunch and leftovers for dinner each day. Weekends were a tough spot, but she tag-teamed it with Ron and Ginny - as awkward as _that_ was - and it worked.

_‘Gin’s just worried about you, mate. As much as she says she hates you after what happened, she still cares more than I’d ever get her to admit,’_

Like that would ever make him feel any better. It just dumped a load of guilt on him like an icy bucket of water.

There was a brief break in the clouded haze for the parole meeting Draco Malfoy, even though the whole event had been filled with Malfoy’s obnoxious flirting (Merlin only knows _why_ Malfoy had decided to flirt with him) and making Harry uncomfortable. The cloud cleared and that was all Harry knew, he just hoped no one else had noticed the coincidence, he wasn’t sure quite how to explain it just yet. 

There had been other slight breaks in the haze on Harry’s dates with Sam - dates _plural_ , somehow he’d managed a total of three so far without driving Sam away - but Harry had still behaved atrociously and felt out of it most of the time. He wasn’t even too sure what he’d said to Sam _at all_ on their dates, something he just _knew_ would come back to bite him on the arse if he wasn’t careful. It didn’t help that everyone was so encouraging of him finally going on dates, either, they were too distracted by his apparent dating success to notice just how far his head had been in the clouds for two weeks now.

If Harry hadn’t been so confident in his ability to throw off the Imperious curse since he was fourteen, he’d start to wonder if someone had slipped him under it when he hadn’t noticed. That and the fact that he didn’t seem to be feeling the blissful happiness that always accompanied the Imperious curse, instead it was more of a confused daze and a general feeling of unease. The knot that had appeared in his stomach had just been getting worse.

Two weeks he’d been feeling like this, with no hope of figuring out what was causing it.

It was also two weeks since he’d got his little Prongslet, his little stag tattoo on his wrist, which had taken to cantering up and down his arm at all hours of the day. Harry couldn’t even get annoyed at his constant awareness of it moving around thanks to the tickling sensation that occurred whenever it moved, as it obviously meant that the stag was happy making a nuisance of itself on his arm.

Unfortunately, it also meant that it was time for Harry’s third parole meeting with Malfoy.

Sighing to himself, with yet another one of the ministry’s dirt coffees in his hand as he made his way to his office, Harry resigned himself to yet another horribly uncomfortable hour of just him and Malfoy and Malfoy’s annoying new habit of flirting _really, really badly_.

In fact, Harry was too busy grumbling to himself that he failed to notice the rather stately looking witch that had taken up residence in his office who was currently sprinkling a selection of muggle toys around the floor for an energetic young toddler to pounce upon.

Andromeda Tonks smiled fondly at Harry, as a grandmother would smile at her grandchildren, or a certain stern Scottish professor would smile at her unruly, rulebreaking house members. When he looked up, Harry broke into the widest smile he’d managed in two weeks.

‘Andi! What on earth are you doing here? Don’t tell me I double booked? I’ve got a meeting in five minutes.’

‘No no, not at all, my dear,’ Andromeda chuckled warmly at him, ‘I’m sorry to do this to you so last minute, but I seem to have gotten myself an emergency that I cannot possibly rearrange. Would you be an absolute dear and watch Teddy for me for a few hours?’

If Andromeda could have fluttered her eyelashes like a schoolgirl to convince him here, Harry was sure she would have. Luckily for them both, Harry needed no convincing when it came to spending time with his godson.

‘Of course, you know you don’t need to convince me to spend time with Teddy. Although he might be quite bored if I’m sat in meetings and doing paperwork the whole time.’

‘That’s what the toys are for, silly! What sort of grandmother do you take me for? I came prepared!’

Shaking his head, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t surprising that Andi had been in Slytherin, she truly was the most pleasantly cunning woman he knew.

‘Alright, get out of here and go to your emergency. Floo me when you’re done. I’ll most likely be here but if I head home I’ll owl you.’

Andromeda smiled at him, patted his head as if he was a toddler like her grandson or, perhaps, a dog, and strode out of his office, every bit the grand lady that she was.

‘Just you and me then Teds,’ Harry called over to the boy, getting a happy gurgle in response.

He was just thinking that he should probably put away some of the books scattered across his desk before Malfoy arrived and called him a heathen, when a sharp knock sounded at his door. _Great_.

~D~

‘Malfoy, come in and sit down.’ Potter was stood up and facing away from Draco as he came into the room, putting some book back onto his shelving, giving Draco the most _perfect_ view of his arse as he went on his tiptoes to reach up.

‘Well, don't you just look like the bee’s knees?’ He looked Potter up… and down. Slowly. 

‘You know bee’s don’t actually have any knees?’

‘Potter, can’t you just let me flirt with you?’

‘Absolutely not, it’s inappropriate.’

‘Oh? Enlighten me.’

‘Firstly, you’re my parole charge, second, my godson is right there, and third, you’re a prat!’

‘Oh, sweetheart, I do so love the pet names you’ve got for me.’

Potter blushed furiously at this, Draco was pleased to see. He’d decided on playing a new, decidedly enjoyable game he had come up with, one that involved exciting an exact combination of (what he hoped was) arousal and fury in one Harry James Potter, and Draco was - unsurprisingly - the most qualified player.

It had been two weeks since Draco had given Potter - yes, still Potter, despite the flirting, he hadn’t earned that privilege _just_ yet - his first magical tattoo. Two weeks since Draco had acknowledged he found Potter attractive, since he’d realised he was maybe slightly attracted to Potter. Two weeks of his most impressive flirting techniques as a way to try and ignore that his feelings were maybe a little bit more sincere than he wanted to admit. Getting a rise out of Potter was familiar territory, he felt comfortable in it. It was, arguably, the source of the better memories of his time at Hogwarts.

‘I’m sorry I have to have Teddy here today but Andi had an emergency to tend to and you’re related to him anyway so I figured you’d have nothing to complain about.’

‘Of course not, spending time with young cousin Edward is always a joyous occasion.’ Leaning down to pick up his sweet baby cousin, Draco deftly chose not to disclose that he happened to know _exactly_ what emergency had befallen his Aunt Andromeda; tea with his mother. Although, “baby” wasn’t really the word he should use any more to describe the wriggling four year old perched on his hip.

‘Unca Dray!’ came the cries from Teddy.

‘Dray - _coh_ , Edward, Dray - _coh_.’

‘Dray - car!’

‘Close enough,’ Draco smiled at the tiny face beaming up at him and booped his cousin on the nose.

‘Right, okay then.’ Potter was looking at him in utter disbelief, Aunt Andromeda had clearly not informed him of Draco’s increasing presence in his young cousin’s life. ‘Can you sit down now so we can have our meeting?’

‘Not quite.’ Draco put down the squirming toddler in the midst of his Lego bricks and turned to face Potter, holding his hand out. ‘Give me your hand.’

‘What?’

‘Relax, sweetheart, I just want to hold it,’ Draco smirked at him, ‘I’m not proposing yet.’

Potter did, in fact, seem to visibly relax at the knowledge that Draco was _not_ proposing, and Draco couldn’t lie that it hurt just as much as it was amusing. He was using his very best flirting techniques, after all.

He reached his hand out and lay it in Draco’s outstretched one, palm upwards, and Draco circled his fingers around Potter’s wrist. He could feel Potter’s pulse beneath his fingers, the beat of it growing steadily faster and more erratic. It was a huge stroke to his ego to know that he was the one causing it. Taking his time with it, Draco edged the fingers of his other hand under the sleeve of Potter’s auror jacket, making sure to be careful not to knock against any skin that may still be tender around the now-two-week-old tattoo that lay there. When Potter made that same sharp drawing in of breath that he had when Draco had initially given him the tattoo, Draco thought for sure he’d hurt him. Judging by the look on Potter’s face though, it was something else entirely; something Draco didn’t want to even begin to try and figure out.

‘You should count yourself lucky, Potter. Not many tattoo artists give their customers out of office visits to check up on the healing of their ink.’ Draco looked up at the auror sharply, ‘have you been using the cream twice a day?’

Apparently over his initial wariness, Potter rolled his eyes. ‘This isn’t some special out of office visit if you have to come to _my_ office because I’m your _parole officer_. And yes I have, thank you,’ he added, almost as an afterthought.

‘You’re welcome, sweetheart.’ Draco shot a smirk at him and sent a cheeky wink.

Still with his fingers circling Potter’s wrist, Draco glanced back down at the tattoo to inspect it’s healing some more. He didn’t need to, of course, and he wasn’t too sure _why_ exactly he felt the need to, but it was an excuse to make Potter feel uncomfortable and flirt with him a bit more so he was going to continue. That is, until he spotted the stag pawing at the… ground? Skin? … Skin, and charge right at where his fingers were brushing against Potter’s wrist. Nearly jumping a mile ( _nearly_ , Malfoy’s do not jump, especially not a mile), Draco dropped Potter’s wrist with a small yelp - a sound that he would never admit to making - cleared his throat and turned back around to face Edward.

Choosing to ignore the fact that Potter’s magical tattoo had just charged at him and chased him away, Draco instead turned his attention back to his young cousin. He made all the appropriate noises when Edward informed him of his creations with his building blocks, and the current storylines his toy figures were currently being forced to act out. 

Draco could feel Potter staring at him, Merlin knows he’d got enough practise at Hogwarts to know when he was being stared at. Turning back around to smirk at the other man, his suspicions were confirmed by the small frown on his face, but it was a look that wasn’t entirely displeased, and wasn’t _that_ the conundrum!

By the shaking of his head, Potter obviously had decided to continue ignoring all of Draco’s stellar flirting efforts. _Pity on him then, really_ . Still smirking, Draco sat in the chair opposite Potter’s desk. He didn’t _flop_ or _plonk_ or any other demeaning move, Malfoy’s do not so that; he gracefully _sat_.

‘So. This is our third meeting now… has your employment changed?’

‘No.’

‘Has your living situation changed?’

‘No.’

‘Have you taken any illegal potions?’

‘No.’

Have you been in contact with anyone not permitted by the terms of your parole?’

‘No.’

‘Have you visited anyone at the prison of Azkaban?’

Draco gritted his teeth at that one. As if he would ever want to see his pathetic excuse for a father ever again. ‘No.’

Potter at least had the good sense to wince at that one, ‘Sorry.’

‘Are we done? I have a shift starting in a couple of hours.’

Potter… blushed? At the mention of the tattoo parlour? _Well, well,_ Draco mused, _what an interesting development._ Perhaps he’s not as impervious to my charms as he’s been claiming.

‘Not quite. This is an hour long meeting for a reason, Malfoy. Why don’t you talk me through your week?’

~H~

‘ _Why don’t you talk me through your week_?’

Harry had decided very early on in this arrangement that the best time for staring at Malfoy was definitely when he was chattering away - Malfoy’s definitely _do_ chatter - about whatever Harry had asked him, so that was precisely what he did.

Malfoy was still wearing his muggle clothing, this time opting for some (slightly baggier, but still skin-tight) ripped black jeans, and a greying Harley Davidson t-shirt which matched so spectacularly with the leather jacket and combat boots it almost hurt Harry’s eyes. The t-shirt also happened to be short sleeved again, leaving the details of Malfoy’s tattooed left arm exposed for all to see, and on the slightly baggier side, meaning the neckline came down a bit lower than it had before and showing some more wisps of tattoos as they moved, brushing Malfoy’s neck. It looked to Harry like the tip of a tail, but he couldn’t be too sure.

The lower neckline of his t-shirt also meant that Malfoy’s prisoner identification number was on full view, but Harry tried very hard to look absolutely everywhere else instead. Neither of them needed (or wanted) to be reminded of that.

The sleeve on his left arm was what made Harry stare the most though. There was, of course, the Dark Mark pride of place in the centre of his forearm, but instead of the pulsating black it had been when Harry had glimpsed it on top of the astronomy tower back in sixth year, it was grey and faded and almost blurry around the edges. Malfoy had decorated and partially covered it by surrounding it with flowers. Narcissus, pansies, roses, forget-me-nots and even a singular lily right at the bottom (which made Harry feel something quite indiscernible to think about why he would possibly have chosen that), all in such bright vibrant colours that the grey of the Dark Mark faded into almost nothing. Along the rest of Malfoy’s arm were seemingly random pieces of ink, all overlapping but not covering each other; a snitch was flying around some Quidditch goalposts on him inner bicep, a great mass of fire in the shape of a snake curling its way down from his shoulder periodically, and a series of moon cycles and stars set out in various constellations scattered along the top of his forearm. _Of_ course _Malfoy is the type of self-centred prick to get his own constellation tattooed on his arm_ . Harry could even see the beginnings of claws coming down below the line of his sleeve, presumably belonging to whichever animal owned the tail and, with the fire along his upper arm, it could only mean there was a rather large fire-breathing _dragon_ over his shoulder. It was all pretty bad-ass, Harry had to admit.

He definitely didn’t want to admit that he wanted to trace over the ink and possibly see whatever else Malfoy had, not to mention the rest of the dragon over his shoulder. Definitely not.

But watching the blond interacting with Teddy, Harry couldn’t help but imagine the scene five or six or seven years in the future, of a blond man playing with another small child - not Teddy - that had platinum blond hair and green eyes… or scruffy black hair and grey eyes. It was a dangerous thought to even allow into his mind, let alone properly indulge in. _But why am I even indulging in it?_

He supposed the blond man could be Sam at a push; their first date had gone well, almost too well in fact, despite how atrociously Harry had behaved, as had the three dates since then. But Harry couldn’t help the paranoia from sneaking in, the constant questioning that had led him to avoid a love life for so long in the first place, of people wanting to be with _Harry Potter, War Hero_ , instead of just Harry. 

Was it too much to ask to be Just Harry, for once? Was it too much to ask his own brain to stop panicking that he’d never find that?

It didn’t make it any easier on him with the knowledge that he had to have been about the worst first date in the history of first dates, but Sam had still blushed and flustered and invited Harry in for a nightcap three times in a row. They hadn’t shared more than a few chaste kisses, but Harry figured after so long out of the game he could be excused for such poor romancing skills. Either that, or he really had to start getting paranoid about Sam’s motives to make Harry his rubbish boyfriend, and he really would be an outrageously rubbish boyfriend if his current mood carried on any longer.

‘… and so, of course, mother and I decided that it was high time to change our names legally. Put the whole Malfoy line and its reputation behind us and start fresh.’ Well if _that_ didn’t snap Harry out of his weekly staring at a man way out of his league then he didn’t know what would.

‘I’m sorry, what? What would you change your name to, then?’

‘Black, of course. It’s mother’s maiden name anyway so all she has to do is request new documents in her maiden name. I’ll have to appeal through the ministry to change my own name, though I’m sure I’ll meet a splendid amount of resistance to that.

‘No! No. Uh, I mean- I’ll help. I’ll sponsor you through it.’ Harry was blushing, he just knew it.

‘You would? Why, Potter?’ Malfoy looked confused, Harry couldn’t exactly blame him.

‘You deserve a fresh start,’ Harry murmured, ‘I wouldn’t have spoken at your trial if I didn’t believe that. I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t want you to go to Azkaban at all. I thought I could help but I failed you.’

‘Take your hero complex to someone who cares, Potter. Don’t you know how much you _did_ help? I got three years. Every other death eater got a life sentence. Your ego can rest easy.’

‘I don’t have a hero complex! And I didn’t do it for my ego, I did it for you!’ Ten years knowing Malfoy and he still managed to get riled up just as easily.

‘Whatever, Potter. I appreciate the help you’re offering for my name change but I’m not discussing the trials, or Azkaban with you, so just leave it.’ And with that, Malfoy made his way over to Teddy and set about playing with him most enthusiastically, determinately ignoring every attempt Harry made at getting his attention.

Harry knew that any other parole officer would have reprimanded Malfoy long before now, and he probably would have been back in Azkaban already. But he remembered the reasoning Hermione had had behind assigning Malfoy to him, took a deep breath, and set about writing up the paperwork for the meeting already, keeping a watchful eye on his charge and his godson. Only half an hour to go before he could legally tell Malfoy to piss right off.

If only Malfoy would stop puzzling him. Flirting, and playing with Teddy, and riling Harry up like this. It would help a lot with Harry’s heart and it’s occasional gymnastics. And what the hell was up with all of that, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was aiming for a halloween update and we made it! R.I.P to Lily and James ~ never have I ever been in prison or on parole so imma just guess my way through it here ~ please continue to leave lovely comments and kudos, they make my day! see you all next week xoxo


	7. enough energy to kill ten dark lords

_February 16th 2001_

‘Potter! Darling. Can’t say I didn’t miss you this week, cried myself to sleep when you didn’t call on Valentine’s.’ Draco marched into Potter’s office for the start of their meeting.

‘Piss off, Malfoy,’

‘Ohohoo, not very friendly, are we? What happened, sweetheart? Bad Valentine’s date?’

Potter grimaced at that.

‘Hmm, bad… breakup?’

A wince. ‘That’s none of your business.’

Draco knew he’d hit the nail on the head. ‘Oh come on, sweetheart, you can tell me. I promise I won’t tease unless you beg me to.’

Potter sighed, ‘what gave me away?’

‘Your complete lack of getting into the loved-up spirit, for one,’ Draco mused over at him, ‘my own knowledge of your dismal love life, for another.’

‘Again I’ll say, piss _off,_ Malfoy,’ Potter deadpanned.

But Draco just sat there smirking at him, he knew that if he stayed silent long enough that Potter might just… 

‘ _Alright_! If you have to know, I was seeing this guy who I thought was really nice but it turns out he’s a massive creep and only fancied me for my name and my scar and now I have to find a new coffee shop.’

Draco blinked. Potter had managed to say all that in about five seconds flat. ‘Well. that sure was a lot of information to take in that quickly. My condolences, although he sounds like a twat. But why a new coffee shop?’

‘He works at _Lou’s_. On Diagon Alley. You’ve probably seen him around.’ Potter’s cheeks were pink, and he spoke in the smallest voice, looking down at his lap.

Of course. _Lou’s._ That absolute waste of space just down from the parlour on Diagon Alley. All full of light and plants and nice, soft things. It made Draco feel sick every time he thought of it. And now he evidently had yet another reason to avoid it. This... this _arsehole_ had taken advantage of Potter and broken his heart into tiny smithereens. And for what? Because he fancied his name?

Anyone who actually knew Harry Potter knew that he was nothing like how the press presented him; he didn’t want the fame, despite the taunts that Draco had favoured at Hogwarts, and he _definitely_ wasn’t some massive flirt making his way through the entirety of wizarding Britain. The very suggestion of it made Draco’s blood boil; if he had had claws, they’d be out.

‘Honestly, Potter, _Lou’s_ is hardly the only establishment for a wizard to get a cup of coffee in Britain, nor is it by far the best. The Java Snitch is a much higher class of cafe. Plus it’s quidditch themed, so. It’s a win-win.

Potter gave him a long and calculating stare. Draco almost squirmed underneath it, but Malfoy’s do not _squirm_. After what felt like an age, Potter nodded.

‘Alright. Thanks for not being a total prick.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Has your employment changed?’

_March 2nd 2001_

Harry sighed to himself. It seemed like Malfoy had been late for every single meeting they’d had. Scratch that, he _knew_ Malfoy had been late for every single meeting. _You’d think with such an upper-class upbringing that his parents would’ve taught him to be on time_? 

It didn’t matter. Every minute he was late was another minute that Harry didn’t have to drag out the stupid questions he had to ask every time. The answers never changed. It was the most pointless hour of his week, and that said a lot when most of his week was full of other such pointless paperwork. Honestly, if this was being an auror then the DMLE sold the biggest con ever with their “dark wizard catchers” and raids and busting up potion smuggling dens. A lifetime of pointless paperwork was enough to make Harry want to jump off a broom mid-flight.

Almost ten minutes late, Malfoy sauntered into the office. _Was it a saunter_ ? _Or was it a limp_? Harry shook his head. He didn’t care, and he refused to look up from his desk to properly check. Malfoy probably thought it made him look eccentric or some hippogriff shit.

‘You’re late, you know,’ Harry said, still focused on his paperwork.

‘The lifts were slow.’

‘Somehow I find that hard to believe.’

‘So don’t believe me, Potter. See if I give a shit about it. Send me back to Azkaban for it if you really want.’ Harry looked up at that, something about Malfoy’s tone seemed dejected.

‘No that’s not- I wasn’t- Malfoy. I just meant maybe you could make more of an effort to be on time in future?’

Malfoy gave a bitter laugh. ‘Sure, Potter. Instead of leaving half an hour early, I’ll make it a full hour. How’s that for you? Would that work?’

‘You leave half an hour early?’ Harry was confused. ‘How are you still ten minutes late then?’

‘It’s a mystery, Potter. Maybe you should ask your colleagues? See if they know?’

Harry shook his head in disbelief. He’d been trying to help, but if Malfoy was just going to throw it back in his face like that then what was the point.

‘Whatever. Has your employment changed?’

_March 23rd 2001_

‘Malfoy, you’re late. Again. You do realise I’m a lot more lenient than most parole officers would be? Merlin knows why, you’re the biggest git I’ve ever met.’ Potter turned around at that, and the look on his face when he saw Dracos was almost so priceless, Draco wished he had a camera to preserve it forever.

‘Why have you been crying, Malfoy?’

‘Not crying, Potter. Malfoy’s do not _cry_ . Some dust must have got into my eye when those jokes of colleagues of yours shot those several stinging jinxes. On the arse, I might add. Usually I wouldn’t mind, but it’s not the _nice_ kind of sore. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Stinging jinxes?’ Potter seemed shocked, like Draco wasn’t a dirty, evil death eater that deserved to rot in Azkaban like the rest of them, ‘who was it?’

‘Uh oh, your hero complex is showing, sweetheart.’

‘Just tell me,’ Potter said through gritted teeth.

‘Alright… it was those arseholes McLaggan and Thorpe down the hall. I don’t suppose you know the counter jinx, do you? Only I’d quite like to sit down.’

‘It was… who?’ Potter was raging. Draco didn’t think he’d ever seen those green eyes look quite so angry, even in all their years of tormenting each other at Hogwarts. Draco half wanted to take notes on how to rile Potter up like this again, and half wanted to melt into a puddle knowing Potter was angry as a direct result of something happening to _him_.

‘Cormac McLaggan and Moira Thorpe? It’s nothing really, Potter. Do you have that counter jinx?’

‘How can you say it’s nothing? They assaulted you! Last time I checked, that was still illegal, Malfoy. And they’re _aurors_!’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s the first time, and they’re not the only ones. I’m a death eater, Potter, I’m sure they’re well within their-’

‘WHAT! When else has this happened? And who?’ Potter interrupted. He had been pacing around the office but had whipped his head around to face Draco at that ol’ bombshell.

‘Don’t act so innocent, Potter. This has always happened. Ever since the trials. Every time I set foot in the ministry, someone comes up, wand blazing, and let’s me know exactly how much of a worthless, evil piece of dirt death eater I am. It's why I'm always late.’

Potter lost some of his air at that, letting out a breath of what seemed like an entire lung. ‘You’re not worthless, or evil, or a piece of dirt. And you might have the mark but you were never a death eater, Malfoy.’ He was speaking in a tiny voice now. ‘I had no idea this had been happening.’

Draco wished Potter wouldn’t keep ignoring his request for the counter for that stinging jinx, it was the one piece of charm work he’d never been able to quite manage at Hogwarts.

But Potter was too busy having a crazed look in his eyes. Draco could almost hear the gears turning in his head; Potter was coming up with a plan and Draco wasn’t exactly sure he was going to like what it was.

‘Okay. No meeting today - sorry - but I’ve got something I need to do. I’m going to sort this out, Malfoy, I promise you!’ Potter was almost skipping as he left his office, bouncing along the halls of the ministry with enough energy to kill ten Dark Lords. Draco didn’t know where he stored it all.

Wincing as he moved to leave, Draco cursed Potter and wondered exactly how his mother would react when he asked her to cast a stinging counter jinx at his arse.

_March 30th 2001_

‘Don’t sit down, Malfoy. Our meeting won’t be in the ministry today.’ Harry was already marching out of the office door before Malfoy had even finished walking through it.

He’d had strong words with Kingsley and Robards about what had happened with Cormac McLaggan and Moira Thorpe last week, which thankfully they’d been just as outraged by, but it had still taken a full week to convince them to let Harry have his parole meetings outside of the ministry. Harry’s not saying he pulled the “Saviour of the Wizarding World” card for the first time in his career, but he also didn’t _not_ pull it.

Malfoy seemed somewhat dazed and mildly confused as he spun a full one-eighty on his heels and half-followed/was half-dragged by Harry down the corridor.

Acting as almost a guard to Malfoy - and _no_ , the irony that he was protecting Malfoy was not lost on him - Harry marched him to the Atrium, out of the ministry, and down a couple of streets before coming to a stop at his favourite fish and chip shop. This was always a favourite place to come back in the early days of the auror academy; all the recruits would come here every Friday, after a week of hard training sessions, and pig out on fish, chips, mushy peas, battered sausages, the whole works, all while bitching about whatever Robards or their training instructors had said.

Stealing a glance at the blond beside him, Harry smirked at the uneasiness coming off Malfoy in waves. For as much as Malfoy was more open to Muggles and the Muggle world, it was obvious that he had yet to explore much further than the streets around his mother’s house, and the Leaky Cauldron.

‘It’s alright, Malfoy, the fish won’t bite once they’re deep fried,’ Harry chuckled over at him.

Malfoy sneered. Ah, _there_ was the git Harry knew and loved! Not the uneasy, wary, confused, and guarded parole charge he had been assigned, that flirted atrociously with him as a form of defence and self-preservation. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to deal with _him_.

‘I know the fish don’t bite, sweetheart,’ _oh, here we go_ ‘I’m just worried about the heart attack this fried food may give me. It wouldn’t look too good if the Chosen One can’t keep his death eater alive and well before he officially finishes training, would it?’

It was Harry’s turn to glare now. ‘Look, I’m sorry those arseholes at the ministry couldn’t understand that you served your time, more time than you should’ve had in the first place, and took it upon themselves to break the law and assault you, but I worked hard to get you out of there. The least you can do is not make a fuss of the new locations we have our meetings. Now. do you want mushy peas?’

‘Potter. Sweetheart. _Darling_ . What, in the name of Morgana’s, Circe’s, and Cassandra’s saggy tits, are _mushy peas_?’

_April 13th 2001_

‘Oooh, Friday the 13th, Potter! Better watch out, a big bad death eater might come and bring you three pieces of bad luck!’ Draco strolled into the tiny restaurant Potter had chosen for this week's meeting, completely ignoring the host at the stand in favour of his chosen one and earnt himself glares from all involved.

‘Piss off, Malfoy. I got you a biryani, sit down and let me ask my questions.’

‘Good boy. Taking me out for food before I follow you home and let you ruin me of my innocence.’

Potter blushed the most adorable shade of red.

‘This is _not_ a date. Stop it. Do you want a naan to yourself or to share?’

‘Oh, to share. Most _definitely_ , Potter.’ Draco winked at him and earnt himself yet another glare.

_April 20th 2001_

Malfoy was on the phone when Harry met him at the coffee shop he’d chosen in muggle London, _a mobile phone_! 

‘Thanks for listening, P… yeah, you too, mum misses you… talk to you soon.’

With a click, Malfoy hung up the phone and turned around. Shock filled his eyes as he caught sight of Harry, quickly displaced by wariness. But _who the hell was “P”_?

‘How much of that did you hear?’

‘No- nothing! Just you saying goodbye. That’s it. I promise.’ Harry held his hands up in front of him in a mock surrender.

Malfoy still eyed him with mistrust, but let the subject go. Or, he would have let it go, if Harry wasn’t one to act upon every single, tiny, little, annoying Gryffindor impulse.

‘Who’s “P”?’

Malfoy stiffened. ‘None of your business, Potter.’

‘Actually it’s literally my job to know.’

‘It’s a family friend, alright? Can you just drop it?’

‘Family friend? Aren’t they all locked up in Azkaban?’ Obviously not. He cannot just _drop it_.

If Malfoy hadn’t been angry before, he was absolutely furious now; Harry was almost sure he could see steam coming from his ears. However, as quickly as the rage had started, it stopped. Malfoy’s fists unclenched, his jaw slackened, the fire died behind his eyes.

‘P-,’ he began, obviously not wanting to share, but the technicalities of parole meant that, legally, he had no choice.

‘Look, why don’t we go into the cafe. Sit down, maybe have a hot drink before you tell me all your darkest secrets? If you even want to, you don’t, really.’

The look in Malfoy’s eyes was one of confusion now. ‘What do you mean I don’t have to tell you? If I don’t you can get me thrown back in- into Azkaban.’

‘Yeah, and you don’t deserve that. So let's go have that drink, I’m feeling like hot chocolate.’ 

A small smile grew on Malfoy’s face at that, and Harry decisively did not examine the loops his stomach had started doing at the sight.

‘Hot chocolate sounds nice… thanks. If it’s alright, P is the one thing I get to myself these days. I’d like to keep it that way for a little longer.’ Malfoy spoke in the smallest voice he’d ever heard the blond use.

‘Of course. Take your time.’ Harry turned to the barista in front of him with a smile. ‘Two large hot chocolates please.’

_May 4th 2001_

Draco and Potter had been walking aimlessly around Hyde Park in silence for forty-five minutes now, and Draco was beginning to think that they were a little lost. Despite Potter’s grunting assurances that he knew exactly where he was.

Not that Draco particularly minded, it had been a fairly long week. He’d been picking up more and more customers at the parlour, been forced to take his mother and Patch out for lunch several days, and had had a particularly gruelling session with his mind healer two days previously.

And, for the first time since it had happened, Draco wasn’t alone and in prison when the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts came around.

Come to think of it, the anniversary of the battle might just be why Potter seemed so out of it.

Usually Draco would be revelling in the chance to not speak a word during these forsaken meetings, but the deathly silence from Potter was sucking all the fun out of it. He was like a dementor for Draco’s fun specifically. A Draco’s-fun dementor.

 _That’s it, I have to snap him out of this funk or I’ll get in trouble for him not turning in the paperwork_.

Draco cleared his throat. ‘Potter, I’m not trying to be insensitive, but if you just hand over your paperwork I can fill it in myself. You don’t even need to look at it. Or me. I understand that looking at a death eater will likely make this mood of yours worse, but I’ll be the one in trouble if you don’t write up what you’re supposed to.’

Potter looked up at him with the most empty expression in his eyes. Draco’s heart almost broke, he was pretty sure he’d do just about anything to get the fire back going behind those eyes.

Wordlessly, Potter handed over the parchment and his quill, and made his way over to a nearby bench to sit and stare into his lap. Draco sat on the same bench, but as far away as he could physically be without falling off.

It took Draco little more than five minutes to fill out the questions that Potter always seemed to drag out into a full hour. Typical useless gryffindors. He looked over at Potter again, and _Merlin_ only knew what had got Potter down enough to make him look like someone had just died but-

Oh.

But that was just it, wasn’t it.

As if Draco hadn’t had just as terrible a week as a result. How could he forget that _Harry_ sodding _Potter_ , over just about everyone in the wizarding world, would be miserable around the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts? Harry Potter who had lost more people than Draco could count? Who had been hit, not once but _twice_ , with the killing curse, only to survive both times when everyone else died instantly? Who had been groomed his whole life by a tottering old fool who cared more about a prophecy than he did the child in front of him?

Draco cleared his throat. ‘Listen, Potter…’ he began, but once he’d started he realised he had no idea where that sentence would end up. If Potter would even want to talk to a _death eater_ who’d been on the _enemy side_ of the previously mentioned _battle where everyone died_.

‘Potter, I know you most likely don’t wish to speak about it, especially to me, of all people, but if there’s anything I can offer that would make you feel even the slightest bit better, then I’m here.’

Having said his piece, Draco turned back to resolutely continue being ignored by the brunet. He most certainly did not expect said brunet to suddenly lunge at him and wrap his arms around his neck and start sobbing into his shoulder.

Mostly due to shock, Draco impulsively cradled his arm around Potter’s shoulder; pulling him close and providing true comfort in a way that no Malfoy had ever provided. It felt… nice? If you ignored the wailing sobs that Potter was releasing into his shoulder that is. It was nice and alarmingly intimate for who they were: two childhood rivals; a death eater and the chosen one; a parole officer and an ex-convict.

But Draco chose to ignore all that. Right now he had to comfort Potter, comfort _Harry_ , when he needed it most and there was no one else around. And if it made Draco’s heart speed up and skip the occasional beat and the butterflies in his stomach to beat incessantly against his ribcage, then that was just something Draco would have to push down and ignore until it went away.

_May 25th 2001_

‘Hey, look. I’m actually on official leave next week so-’

‘You’ll be palming me off to another arsehole auror then? Let me guess- it’ll be one Mister Cormac McLaggan? He’s my number one fan last time I checked.’

‘Not quite… I’ve managed to convince Robards to let me work for the hour of our meeting, even though I’m on leave to spend some time with Teddy, but if you’re up for it Robards has said it’s fine if we meet in my, erm, flat?’

Draco blinked, completely shocked at the surprise turn of conversation. Recovering quickly, Draco switched back on the teasing smirk.

‘Inviting me back to yours already, sweetheart?’

Potter blushed the most _edible_ shade of red, that it was almost worth the slew of butterflies that seem to have taken up a permanent residence in his stomach.

‘Can you do that or not? It’s either you have your meeting in my flat, or have it with another auror like McLaggan or Thorpe and we both know you wouldn’t want that now, would you?’

Draco scowled at that. How dare Potter throw that back in his face? It hadn’t been _Draco’s_ idea to move their weekly meetings from Potter’s office at the ministry to any place around London that took Potter’s fancy. It’d been Potter that had insisted McLaggan and Thorpe be reprimanded for those stinging hexes, and Draco was glad he hadn’t seen them since for fear of what they would retaliate with. He felt like he was hiding behind Potter’s auror skirts and he didn’t like it one bit. 

‘N- No,’ the words stumbled out of Draco, ‘I’ll come to your flat. And thank you, Potter. I don’t think I thanked you properly for what you did that day, and since. Not many people would give a damn about death eater scum being on the bad end of a hex or jinx, but I guess that’s what makes you so different from everyone else.'

Potter regarded him with a careful stare before nodding. ‘You’re not a death eater anymore, and you never were in my eyes, Draco. And you’re the furthest thing from scum I’ve ever seen. Far too poncey.’ He laughed, and Draco managed to turn up a corner of his mouth. They were kind words, but Draco didn’t appreciate Potter lying like that, especially for someone like him.

‘I’ll see you next week then, Potter, owl me the address.’ Draco nodded, and left as quickly as his upbringing would allow without flat-out running. He completely missed Potter’s worried look following him out of the door, and the small way that Potter smiled to himself at the thought that Draco would be _in his flat_ just seven days from now.

He should probably start cleaning now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who is P/Patch???????  
> lots of time covered here - we're jumping forward a few months, I wanted them to have the time to get to know each other & realise they're not as different as they thought so I hope you liked it!  
> comments & kudos make my whole week x


	8. tiny handprints part one

~D~

Draco sat looking out of the window of the small kitchen as he took the last few sips of his tea.

It was a small window, looking out onto a small back garden, but there had been so many hours, so many days and weeks and months, that his mother had spent, painstakingly filling it with beautiful flowers and intoxicating smells to bring some semblance of joy to their tiny end of terrace house in the middle of muggle suburbia. It had made Draco almost unbearably happy to hear of its progress with each visit his mother had made to Azkaban over the years, and he won’t deny having been moved to tears when he finally got to lay eyes on it upon his release.

Setting his teacup down onto the kitchen table, he thought back to the mornings he had spent outside, sat at the small bistro table his mother had set up on the terrace, drinking countless cups of tea with his mother and Patch - if he got a day off - and eating the various pastries he brought over to sate his sweet tooth.

Draco sighed. The new rotations at the prison now meant that visits from P would be few and far between; Draco was only thankful that he had managed to set up mobile telephone communication as soon as he’d been released so that he still had _some_ contact with his best friend.

He sighed again, and stood to wash up his tea cup in the sink. He didn’t see P nearly as often as he’d like, not anymore, but their weekly phone conversations were just enough to get him through one visit to the next. He dried the tea cup and placed it back into the cupboard.

‘I’m leaving now, mum!’ He called out.

‘Alright, darling!’ Came the reply from the drawing room.

Draco made his way into the drawing room to wave goodbye before heading out of the door, but was stopped before he could leave.

‘Oh, Draco! I forgot to mention, give this to Mister Potter, will you?’ Narcissa Malfoy looked up from the book she was reading and handed her son an envelope that looked suspiciously like…

‘Mother, what is this?’

‘Don’t be obtuse, dear. It’s an invitation, of course!’ Narcissa smirked at him. As much as Draco had spent his entire life (until he was sixteen, that is) looking up to and copying his father, it was his mother that he imitated most; it was a fact that P _loved_ to remind them both of at every available opportunity. He’d be loath to find out he’d missed one here.

Draco looked down at the thick, creamy envelope that was now in his hands; his mother had been sending them out for a few weeks now, insisting that his first birthday without the threat of any dark lords or controlling fathers (or prison) was one to celebrate. Draco couldn’t even begin to think who she might have thought it suitable to invite. Or who would even care enough about a _Malfoy_ to even come.

‘You want me to… what, invite him?’

‘Yes, dear. Do keep up.’

‘You want me to invite Potter. To the party. The party you’re throwing for my birthday.’

‘Yes dear, and I’m afraid I have to insist on this occasion. That boy has been doing wonders for you without you even noticing it and I simply _must_ have him here so that I might thank him in person.’ Draco would have marveled at the fact that his mother was possibly the only person to combine a stern voice with a twinkling eye so well if the statement hadn’t caught him so completely off guard.

‘You think- wha- wonders? Ha… Potter? I mean- erm… alright, mother.’

‘ _Yes_ , dear, what is so hard for you to understand? Honestly, Draco, is it Harry Potter’s influence that makes you so emotional and ineloquent?’ she was teasing him, and Draco didn’t like her knowing smile one bit. ‘Now, off you go.’

Draco tried to smile back at his mother but it came out as more of a grimace, and left to make his way to his parole meeting. His parole meeting that was taking place _in Potter’s flat this week_ . He must have _royally_ pissed off some Gods to earn this kind of bad luck so frequently in his young life.

Although, thinking back to his mother's sly comment, the inability to speak properly was a Gryffindor trait that he didn’t mind rubbing off on him so much anymore.

***

With a neat _pop_ , Draco apparated into an alleyway just a few houses down from the address that Potter had owled over to him earlier in the week. Seeing a number eight to his right and nine to his left, Draco headed to the left, keeping an eye on the house numbers. _Ten… eleven… thirteen… fourteen…_ wait, what? Draco shook his head and looked back down at the address that Potter had written down.

 _Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_.

He walked back to stand between numbers eleven and thirteen. ‘How the hell am I supposed to find number twelve, Potter you unbelievable imbecile?’

Only as he spoke, houses number eleven and thirteen seemed to shake and stretch, the muggles inside them remaining utterly oblivious. When the buildings eventually stopped shaking, Draco blinked and shook his head. There, right in front of where he was standing, where previously there had been nothing, was now another house with a neat, golden _Twelve_ on a plaque next to the door.

_Huh. A Fidelius charm. Clever, Potter._

Taking a deep breath, Draco made his way up the steps and raised his hand to the knocker on the door. He gave three short, sharp raps at the door, and what could only be described as a screaming giggle came in response. Draco would deny his terror at that sound until his dying day.

The door was flung open and a beaming Potter greeted him; his mouth stretched open in a wide grin showing off all his pearly whites, bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle from the mirth held within them, and the characteristic dark-brown-almost-black unruly curls that topped his head. Then there was the clothes. A pair of pale grey jogging trousers donned his legs, rolled over a couple of times at the hip to make them shorter, and a simple black henley with the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows to showcase his stag and a new-looking large black dog (which Potter must’ve snuck back to the parlour to get without him noticing, the bastard), and his utterly _edible_ forearms. The sight of him was pure sex on legs and Draco was almost struck dumb at how gorgeous Potter looked in that moment.

Almost.

Upon seeing Draco, however, the wide grin stilted and shrank, his eyes lost their sparkle, and there was no way Draco could lie to himself and pretend anymore that it didn’t hurt.

Potter cleared his throat. ‘Malfoy. You’re here. Erm, come in?’

Malfoy Mask back in place, Draco strode into the house, making every effort not to shove his shoulder into Potter’s on the way past. 

With a start, Draco realised he was back in Great Aunt Walburga’s house, where his mother had spent a great deal of her childhood, although needless to say the decorations must have had a huge overhaul since those times. The hallway was light and airy rather than the cramped and foreboding that Draco remembered, and rooms he could see leading off the corridor seemed _inviting_ rather than dark and set to curse you if you entered. The walls were a pale duck egg blue and the flooring looked like it was reclaimed original floorboards, nothing at all like the greys and blacks and snake detailing that had canvassed the entire house before.

It was a relief to see that the hideous portrait of his Great Aunt had been destroyed, along with the severed heads of her house elves. Draco had nightmares for weeks after seeing those for the first time.

Looking around the room, Draco saw generations and generations of his family history told on the walls, each and every member of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black woven into the seemingly never-ending tapestry. But he couldn’t help but notice the markings that seemed to decorate the bottom.

‘Potter, why are there tiny handprints all over the walls?’

‘Why are there tiny handprints all over the walls, cub?’ Leaning down to his level, Potter whispers at his godson.

‘Because I have tiny hands, papa,’ Edward whispered back at him. Draco won’t pretend that his baby cousin calling Potter “papa” didn’t make his heart swell.

Potter clears his throat and stands up straight again, facing Draco head on with the most serious expression on his face. ‘Because he has tiny hands.’

The pair of them last a total of thirty more seconds before erupting into peels of laughter. Potter swoops down and scoops up Edward into his arms, tickling him as he does so and making him laugh all the more. 

The sight made Draco’s teeth ache, it was so tooth-rotting-ly sweet and unbearable, Potter was definitely going to have to pay for making him feel so warm and uncomfortable.

‘Sweetheart,’ he fluttered his eyelashes, ‘I believe it’s my turn for your undivided attention.’

Just as expected, and much to Draco’s satisfaction, Potter turned a suitable shade of red and swallowed audibly. Blinking rapidly several times, Potter then cleared his throat and put Edward down. Draco couldn’t help but smirk at how easy it appeared to be for him to fluster Potter, to make Potter feel just as horrid and uncomfortable as he made Draco feel. Served him right, really, Malfoys were not above being petty.

‘I thought we could have our meeting in the kitchen if that's alright with you?’

‘Perfectly, Potter. What about darling young Edward here?’ Draco lent down to poke a couple of tickles into Edward’s side and was rewarded with peels of laughter from his baby cousin.

Straightening back up and looking at Potter, Draco caught a thoroughly confusing expression on his face, that one could only describe as strangled; the man looked as though he’d been hit with a rather kinky choking charm and Draco wasn’t sure if he felt aroused or sickened. Either way, the butterflies that seemed to have moved into his stomach permanently took it as an opportunity to flutter up again.

‘I’ve got a charmed playpen full of toys from Andi set up in the kitchen so he’ll be joining us if that’s alright with you? Merlin knows I’ve had enough lectures from Andi, Molly, and most recently Mione about childcare that I’m smart enough to not just leave him alone.’ Potter chuckled, as if receiving said lectures had been an amusing affair. Draco shuddered, he couldn’t imagine anything worse. _Childcare._

Draco followed Potter and a babbling Edward into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Much like the hallway and the parts of rooms that Draco had glimpsed, the kitchen had received a much similar refresh in its decor.

Although down a set of stairs and into what felt like a basement, the room felt light and airy. The walls were a bright white and light streamed in from the faux windows there; Potter must have bribed the Ministry to tell him their window spell, as the scene showed a garden not unlike Draco’s own at his mother’s house in Kensington. The kitchen cabinets were a pale grey and the light wood of the worktops perfectly matched the light wood of the same reclaimed floorboards as in the hallway.

It was so entirely unexpected, and yet it fit the house, and Potter, perfectly.

Potter put Edward down into a small playpen and moved to the small breakfast table under one of the faux windows, where he sat down in one of the seats and gestured for Draco to take the other.

Draco tried (and failed) not to long for the life he had always dreamed of; sat having breakfast with his wife - although _wife_ had changed to _husband_ fairly early on in third year when he’d realised he was watching the other boys in the dorm change a little _too_ intensely - with a fresh cup of coffee and a babbling child on his knee. Free and happy and not burdened by the mistakes he had made as a child under his father’s rule. Shaking his head to clear the delirious fantasy from his head, he cleared his throat and took the seat opposite Potter.

‘Shall we begin?’

***

‘Listen, Potter… before I leave… mother is insisting on having a small get together at our house in Kensington this weekend and she seems to think that you being my parole officer is a good reason to invite you.’ _She fails to understand what a monumentally bad idea it is_ , remaining unsaid between them.

‘What? You’re inviting me? To a party?’ 

‘A monumentally bad idea, I know,’ Draco sighed, ‘but it’s for my birthday and she’s insisting that I invite you.’

Potter looked utterly confused as to why his mother would want him there, and Draco couldn’t find it within himself to sneer at his complete Gryffindor idiocy; he’d be confused too if it was the other way around. However, there also seemed to be a hint of… what was that? Disappointment? What could the great Chosen One possibly have to be disappointed about with this? The fact that he had not caused Draco’s misery directly?

Seeming to recover somewhat, Potter cleared his throat and managed to give Draco a small half-smile. He looked down at his godson, ‘Come on, Ted, time for bedtime.’

‘Noooo!’ Came the response. Draco chuckled, he should have expected his baby cousin to be just as difficult a child as the rest with Black blood flowing through their veins; it was practically a family trait.

Potter, however, was not amused. ‘Come on, Teddy. It’s late and Grandma Andi will be mad at both of us if I let you stay up any longer.’

‘No, papa, no! One jump, one jump!’ Edward looked up at Potter with some of the most well-practised puppy-dog eyes Draco had ever seen, it was truly commendable and Draco resolved to plying him with sweets to help him improve his manipulation tactics so they’d be in peak condition by the time he started Hogwarts.

Potter sighed, but he was smiling now. Smart man, he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

‘Alright, we can watch it. But you don’t tell Grandma Andi and neither will I, okay?’ Edward nodded, thrilled to get his way. ‘And you go to bed as _soon_ as we finish watching, okay?’

_Watching? Were they going to the theatre to see a play?_

‘Yes, papa, yes! I promise!’

Potter chuckled and swooped down to scoop Edward up, wedging him onto his hip. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, cub.’

It was only as Potter turned to head to the door that Draco realised they had both completely forgotten he was there. He cleared his throat and Potter jumped a mile, almost jostling Edward back onto the floor.

‘Blimey! Erm, Malfoy. Erm, are you coming with?’

If Draco had had a drink, he’d have spat it out. ‘Come with? Y- you want me to join you?’ He had almost completely resigned himself to having to sneak out the front door like he was doing a pathetic walk of shame.

Potter’s cheeks pinked. ‘Erm, well, if you want to I guess? Cub, do you mind if Mister Malfoy joins us?’

‘Unca Dray! Unca Dray!’ was the only response, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

‘Well there you go. What do you say, stay?’

‘I really shouldn’t… mother will worry.’ Draco couldn’t help the apprehension that was filling his mind, and mother really _would_ worry if he was late home. She hated him going out without her these days, especially since he’d told her the reasoning behind his parole meetings being moved to outside of the Ministry. Any wand-happy death-eater-hater could chance upon him and that would be that.

‘Come on, Malfoy. Teddy wants you to stay, I want you to stay. So stay.’ Potter’s green eyes flickered up at him, filled with caution, longing, hope. _Huh. How odd_.

But Draco couldn’t find it in himself to deny them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya  
> part one of a big scene here but both parts are done so no need to panic about any cliffhangers (not that there is one really, I'm terrible at writing, honestly why are you reading this), part two will be up tomorrow morn x  
> bonus points to whoever can spot the lil exchange I stole from a textpost I saw that I just HAD to use  
> comments & kudos make my day xox


	9. tiny handprints part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two here we go! this was the scene that gave me the initial idea so I'm v happy to finally reach it, but don't worry, I have so many more plans for these boys.... enjoy!

~H~

Harry couldn’t quite believe that Malfoy had agreed to stay and watch _Aladdin_ with him and Teddy. Yes, Teddy was his cousin through his mother and Andi, but surely a childish Disney film - something _muggle_ at that - was a step too far for even a reformed death eater? But the amount of muggle things Malfoy had been getting right on board with lately had been shocking to say the least; something had changed within the blond in the three years he’d been in Azkaban, and Harry didn’t feel afraid to find out what anymore.

‘Sing, papa, _sing_!’

The voice of his godson broke him out of his train of thought. Harry smiled down at Teddy, before focusing back on the film to see which song they were up to now. It was “One Jump Ahead”, Aladdin was jumping through the streets to escape the guards; Teddy’s _second_ favourite song in the film (after “A Whole New World, of course, nothing could beat that magic carpet for Teddy).

Harry cleared his throat and sang along with his godson.

_Riffraff!_

_Street rat!_

_Scoundrel!_

_Take that!_

_Just a little snack, guys_

_Rip him open, take it back, guys_

Teddy leapt up, giggling like the tiny maniac he was, and joined in with the belly dancers on the screen; arms in the air and hips jutting around. Harry chose the opportunity to sneak a glance over at Malfoy, to see if he’d realised exactly what he’d let himself in for here, but he was shocked to see a real, genuine smile on his face. Malfoy seemed to sense his gaze and looked back over at him, eyes darkening slightly. The song continued.

_I'd blame parents except he hasn't got 'em_

_Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat_

_Tell you all about it when I got the time!_

Harry even made it past the parents lyric without wanting to cry his eyes out in front of Malfoy! Hey, he’ll take the wins where he can get them.

Teddy took charge with the next section, shouting out ‘ _One jump_ ’ for each line rather than the full lyrics and jumping as he did so; not for the first time was Harry struck quite vividly with the similarities between Abu the monkey and his very own Ted-monkey.

_Stop, thief!_

_Vandal!_

_Outrage!_

_Scandal!_

Teddy ran up to join hands with Harry again, and his heart swelled at the pure joy that was on his godson’s face.

_Let’s not be too hasty_

_Still I think he’s rather tasty_

Harry snuck another glance at Malfoy, but he couldn’t quite decide how he felt at seeing the blond so genuinely happy at his cousin dancing along to muggle songs in a muggle film.

He usually let Teddy corral him into dancing along to the last part of the song, and they had a tradition of jumping back onto the sofa for the last jump of the song, but they had a guest and Teddy was just going to have to take over dancing for the both of them. Harry’ll be damned before he lets Malfoy see him dancing like a loon with his godson, he’d never live it down.

That didn’t stop Teddy from dancing like a loon in front of Malfoy though, and he completed a thoroughly spectacular jump onto the sofa between Harry and Malfoy at the end of the song, giggling the entire time.

The rest of the film passed without much more of an incident, bar Teddy forcing Harry to duet “A Whole New World” with him, to the obvious amusement of Malfoy. Harry had glared at him and warned him that ‘ _next time Teddy will force you, too, just you wait_!’ and tried to ignore the knot in his stomach that had tightened around the words “next time”.

Malfoy had given him an equally pained expression.

~D~

“Watching”, as it turned out, didn’t mean a play in the theatre, and was in reference to a muggle “film” that Potter programmed into the box he had called a “teevee”. It was all very odd and muggle and Draco had no idea what most of the words meant, but the film itself was most enjoyable; there were genies, sorcery, and an evil man who reminded him a lot of the Dark Lord.

It also had a great deal of music (if one could even call those heinous sounds “music”) which baby Edward had absolutely _insisted_ on jumping up and dancing to for each song. He had even forced Potter into singing and dancing along with him, and Draco vowed to himself to make fun of Potter for at least three years for the sight of it. Making fun of it would definitely hide the fact that the sight of Potter dancing around his living room with his godson to a muggle animation film made him feel all kinds of emotions and none of them were good news.

All too soon - or not soon enough - the film was over and Teddy had fallen asleep on the sofa between them. 

As Potter had stood and scooped up Edward, to put the tiny monster to bed, Draco took the time to get those horrid emotions back in check. He could not be dealing with another crush on _Perfect Potter_ , he could _not_ ! He hadn’t worked so hard at ignoring it for months, just to have Potter’s dancing be the thing to break down his resolve and bring his school time crush back in full force. Mother would never let him live it down. Pansy would never let him live it down. Merlin, even _Patch_ would never let him live it down and he hadn’t even been at Hogwarts with them!

But then Potter walked back into the room and Draco’s eyes fell to the hips he could see jutting out of those joggers, the ridiculous amount of muscles he could see through the thin material of his shirt, that bird’s nest of a hair-do, and those eyes. Those eyes that had been the sole reason he’d never skipped a meal at school and the only colour that broke through the greys of Azkaban.

He was well and truly fucked, and he didn’t mind one bit.

‘So um. I’ve just noticed the time.’ Potter ran a hand through his hair, making it into more of a mess than it already was. ‘Is your mum gonna be worried? Or do you wanna stay for a drink or something?’

Malfoy Mask back in place, Draco did his best indifferent smirk. ‘Relax, Potter. I’m a grown boy, I don’t have a curfew.’

Potter’s cheeks pinked. ‘Right. Well. fire whiskey? Or do you want a beer?’

‘ _Beer_? Just who do you take me for, Weasel? Your finest whiskey, please.’

Potter chuckled and went to get two glasses. He didn’t even rise to the Weasel comment, Draco saw that as a loss.

When he came back into the room, Potter handed Draco a rather full tumbler of whiskey. Raising his eyebrows at the brunet, Draco took a sip.

‘Not bad, Potter. Since when did you have good taste?’

Potter sneered in response, but it was half-hearted and Draco could see no real malice behind it. Draco hadn’t seen real malice behind anything Potter had done or said to him since he’d comforted him after the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It wasn’t… awful. But it meant Draco had had to work extra hard to ignore all feelings and emotions. Obviously that had all gone out of the window now.

Potter sat back down on the sofa, much closer than he had been when they’d been watching the film with Edward between them. In fact, if he got any closer their legs would be touching.

Draco took another sip of his drink, now was not the time to be having a gay panic at the thought of touching Potter’s leg through his trousers.

So, of course, that’s exactly what Draco did.

And the more they drank, the closer they got; fire whiskey removing all forms of inhibitions and social barriers. Potter was flailing his arms around telling some story about Edward changing his hair colour in the middle of Potter doing a food shop, and the subsequent emergency obliviating he’s had to do.

Draco hadn’t heard a single word, he was too focused on the way Potter’s lips moved around every word they spoke and the way his throat looked as he swallowed down more and more whiskey.

They were still getting closer and closer.

Was it the whiskey?

Or did Potter want this too?

Potter had moved on to another story in which Edward had covered the entire kitchen of Grimmauld Place in flour after they’d tried baking for the first time. Draco still didn’t hear a single word he said.

Did Potter even like boys?

 _Merlin_ , who even knew at this point, but it was a risk Draco was getting more and more willing to take.

Draco couldn’t think straight.

In fact, _straight_ was about the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.

All he could hear was Potter’s breathing getting heavier, all he could smell was the fire whiskey on Potter’s breath, all he could see was Potter’s lips parting slightly as they got closer.

And then, all at once, they were kissing.

Or, Draco was kissing Potter, although it was a bit like kissing a statue. Or one of the fifty thousand gargoyles that must’ve been around Hogwarts. Stone and frowns and sneers and confusion. Not at all like Draco had imagined it would be when he got Boy Wonder’s lips to _finally_ grace his own. It was mostly Draco, Potter just let it happen, and that wasn’t a fact that escaped Draco’s notice very easily.

He pulled away, reluctantly, mind, from the best lips he had ever had the privilege of kissing.

There wasn’t a chance that he’d let Potter see just how much his lack of reaction had hurt, though.

‘Scared Potter? I’ll admit I didn’t peg you for the homophobic type, but I guess even the _Saviour_ has to have a flaw,’ _even if it’s a disgustingly bigoted one_. Draco’s insides twisted. He should’ve known that this would come out eventually, there was no way it could have stayed buried deep inside him forever. It was a miracle it had stayed hidden for as long as it had, but Potter just stayed silently watching him. ‘

‘It would be a bit counter-productive of me to be homophobic don’t you think? I wouldn't want to muddy your memories of me from school too much but I’m not the complete idiot you loved to believe I am.’

It took a moment for Potter’s words to sink in, we’ll blame the firewhiskey for that, but once they did… _what_ ? Surely not, not Harry sodding Potter, Golden Boy, Saviour of the entire wizarding world? Surely Potter had not just _come out_ to him?

‘What?’ 

‘Eloquent as always, Mister Malfoy.’ Potter replied, a smirk on his lips but his eyes wide and cautious, echoing the phrasing that Draco so often loved to taunt him with, like he was afraid of what Draco would think of him.

‘Counter-productive… so, you too?’

‘Last time I checked, although I thought we’d already had this particular conversation back in our first parole meeting when I said-’

‘ _Alright_ , Potter, no need for that. You’ve made your point.’ Draco turned his head away, not wanting Potter to see the emotions flooding across his face at the mention of _Harry_ fucking _Potter_ not being quite so straight-as-a-ruler as previously thought. Again. Draco grimaced, surely the whiskey hadn’t made him forget so spectacularly. ‘Seems you are perfect after all.’

‘Aww, well I’m flattered you’ve finally admitted it, _Draco_ ,’ 

He knew Potter was just using his first name to wind him up, and Draco’ll be damned if he lets it slip that it was working.

‘Oh sweetheart, how could I have denied it any longer?’ Draco fluttered his eyelashes at him. 

It was Potter’s turn to blanch this time, his eyes widening, but that damn Gryffindor stubbornness only rose to the challenge as Potter recovered himself quickly and made a show of shuffling closer to Draco. The fire whiskey was clearly getting to them both now.

‘I’m so glad you’ve admitted it, darling,’ he breathed into Draco’s ear.

Draco could feel Potter’s breath dancing across his cheek. He smelt faintly of fire whiskey, treacle tart, and some flowery concoction, and Draco was certainly not complaining. He closed his eyes as he felt Potter get even closer, focusing only on the sensation of Potter’s stubble grazing across his own, silently begging the other man to just lean over and close the final gap…

Draco felt a light push to his chest and his eyes snapped open. Potter was laughing at him. He’d teased him and pushed him away. _How humiliating_ ! _To a Malfoy_!

Schooling his features back into his dissociated Malfoy Mask, Draco cleared his throat and put his still half full glass of fire whiskey back onto the coffee table. It was only once Malfoy rose to his feet and began striding across the room to the fireplace that Potter stopped laughing.

‘Wh- where are you going?’ said Potter, breathlessly, still wiping tears from his eyes from his oh-so-funny fit of laughter.

‘Malfoy’s do not take kindly to others attempting to embarrass them, Potter, you’d think all of our years at school would have led you to remember that.’

‘No, Dra- Malfoy, wait! I wasn’t- I was just-’

But Draco was already storming to the fireplace, ignoring all attempts to get his attention. He took a large handful of floo powder, shouted “ _HOME!_ ” and spun away into the night, leaving Potter to stare at the empty fireplace, wondering exactly where exactly he’d learnt to be so stupid - and read all the signs wrong - to have it all go so wrong so quickly.

~H~

What _had_ gone wrong so quickly?

Sure Malfoy had caught him completely by surprise with the sudden kiss, and his shock had meant that perhaps he hadn’t reacted in the best way, but Malfoy had gone from eyes filled with lust to eyes filled with rage and Harry couldn’t quite figure out what he’d done so wrong.

He _had_ been aiming more for a playful, flirty tease while he had his internal panic about how much he actually really wanted Malfoy to kiss him but he couldn’t because he was his parole officer and there were all sorts of inappropriate power imbalances there and it really wasn’t great. 

If he was being honest with himself, he’d wanted Malfoy to kiss him ever since he’d sat down in that tattoo chair. Or when he’d seen Malfoy sitting in his office. Or at some point in sixth year when he’d been stalking Malfoy around the castle just for a glimpse of him. Who could say which it was, really.

Harry raked his hands through his hair and down his face. He was definitely going to have a headache in the morning, his tolerance had been shot to bits the second he'd joined the auror academy and helped take care of Teddy so a couple of fire whiskeys were more than enough to get him these days. How could he have been so stupid to even _suggest_ that Malfoy stay and watch the film? And then stay even longer for a drink? It was ridiculous! All that flirting and teasing Malfoy subjected him to was clearly getting to him and Harry had allowed the git to _kiss_ him.

But then Malfoy had gone off on one about Malfoy honour and Harry embarrassing him and maybe teasing hadn’t been the right way to go?

Oh, who was he kidding, with Malfoy’s speedy exit stage left, even Harry “oblivious” Potter knew he’d definitely fucked up here.

And he’d been invited to his party on sunday. _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song lyrics are from 'One Jump Ahead' from Disney's Aladdin, of course


	10. the blond ferrety git known as Draco Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter here we goooo, enjoy folks xoxo

~D~

For the first time in his life, Draco stumbled out of the floo at the other end, much to the surprise of his mother.

‘Darling, what on earth has happened? You’re filthy! Let me find a wet cloth for you to get some of the soot off with, save getting it on the floors.’

‘I’m fine, mother, honestly, just had other things on my mind than landing the floo properly.’

‘What’s happened? You’re home much later than I had expected. I thought your meeting was only supposed to last an hour?’ The concern in Narcissa’s eyes weren’t veiled at all; Draco winced, _she must really have been worried about me_.

‘It was. But Edward wanted to watch a film with us both on the teevee and neither of us had the heart to deny him, so we watched Aladdin - horrible muggle rubbish, horrible plot, horrible characters, horrible songs, you’d have hated it, mum - and he fell asleep but it was really nice just spending time together and getting to know Edward and not feeling like I had to impress anyone or uphold any standards or defend myself against the Malfoy name or-’

‘ _Draco_. You’re rambling, stop that at once.’

Draco winced again. ‘Sorry, mum. I’m sorry for worrying you, I should have floo’d.’

‘You’re damn right you should have floo’d.’

 _Shit_ , if Narcissa was swearing, Draco knew he’d messed up big time.

‘And are you drunk? I thought you were having a parole meeting not emptying a bar, Draco!’ Draco caught the eye of his mother and immediately regretted it; the storm behind her eyes was not one to be trifled with.

‘I’m fine, mum. I only had two small fire whiskeys.’

‘Draco Lucius Malfoy. Need I remind you that you are currently on _parole_ from _Azkaban_ where you have spent the last _three years_ of your life. Getting drunk is not something you can afford to do right now.’

‘Potter offered, mum! It would’ve been more rude to snub him and leave. You raised me better than that.’ Draco knew that bringing up the countless lessons in societal niceties that he had been subjected to - not to mention the doddery old Mister Twyford who came with them - was a bit of a low blow, and a particularly daring move to partake in whilst drunk and Narcissa was already royally pissed at him.

‘Just go to sleep, Draco. You’d better hope Mister Potter doesn’t hold anything against you.’ Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose, no doubt to get rid of the headache Draco had given her. To be fair to her, he’d be doing the same if he had to deal with himself right now. ‘Although I supposed we’ll see on Sunday.’

Draco looked up in confusion. ‘Sunday?’

‘For your party, dragon. He is invited, is he not? You did give him the invitation?’

Draco vividly remembers handing over the creamy envelope before they had sat down to watch the film. ‘Yes… I gave it to him.’

‘Good.’ Narcissa nodded sharply. ‘We shall see your fate on Sunday. Goodnight, darling.’

‘G’night, mum.’

Well shit. Sunday. He was well and truly screwed.

_Saturday_

~H~

Harry had been pacing and stewing for just under twenty-four hours now. Twenty-two hours and thirty seven minutes to be precise. Twenty-two hours and thirty seven minutes since Malfoy had kissed him and stormed almost immediately out of his flat.

It had been twenty-two hours and thirty four minutes since Harry had begun to regret the majority of his life choices and stew about what had happened and what that could mean for his future.

It was also ten minutes before he was late to pub night with Ron and Hermione.

After they had both graduated from Hogwarts (with flying colours, seven N.E.W.T.s each, and two positively _glowing_ letters of recommendation from Headmistress McGonnagal herself) Hermione had insisted upon meeting up every fortnight for dinner, drinks, and a catch up. So far, unless Harry’s had revision for an exam or paperwork for cases, he hadn’t missed a single one. He knew that if he Floo-called Ron and Hermione with ten - scratch that, _seven_ \- minutes to go before he was officially late and claimed to feel ill they’d see right through him.

Yep, not a chance.

Signing, Harry resigned himself to having to spend the entire evening dodging questions about “how his parole appointment to Malfoy was going” (awful, thanks for asking, he kissed me and I might fancy him) and “are you still seeing that Sam guy” (haven’t been for a while because he’s an arse but you never asked). Although he knew Mione would almost certainly figure something out before the end of the night, it was bound to happen.

With a messy _crack_ , Harry apparated to the pub.

***

The County Arms, Ron and Hermione’s local, was a quaint looking muggle pub tucked away in the depths of their burrow in Notting Hill. In fact, it was so tucked away that Harry was sure most of Notting Hill didn’t even know that it was there. It was small and cosy, and had twinkling lights strung up around the ceiling year-round which gave it a decidedly christmassy feel even in the highest heats of summer, and it wasn’t known to anyone else in the wizarding world other than the three people currently sat in one of the squishy corner booths.

‘… it blew up in his face and now George has been walking around the shop missing an eyebrow for a week. Scaring half the customers away.’

‘Oh please, Ron. a missing eyebrow isn’t enough to scare a customer away.’

‘It is when it’s combined with his skin being dyed green, love. Everyone knows George likes to test out new products on himself and they don’t want to risk that those ones might already be on the shelves.’

Hermione scoffed incredulously at that, whilst Harry tried not to piss himself from laughing too hard, but Ron brought out a picture of one green-skinned, one-eyebrowed George Weasley and beer came out his nose.

‘Eugh, Harry! That’s so disgusting!’

‘Sorry, Mione,’ Harry said, still laughing, ‘I just keep picturing what Angie’s face must have been like when George got back from the shop that day, and it sets me off again.’

Ron threw his head back, cackling, but Hermione’s expression was one of intense displeasure. But honestly, after a decade of being on the receiving end of those glares, they’d lost their touch a little.

‘Anyway. Harry. How’s Malfoy been this week?’ She asked, raising her eyebrows expectantly at him.

Harry drew in a sharp breath. With Ron’s countless anecdotes of George and the shop, he’d almost managed to forget about what had him so riled up before he came out, almost forgot the horrors of Draco Malfoy _kissing_ him. 

‘Erm, fine. Nothing to report.’

‘Really?’ Her eyebrows raised higher.

‘Erm, yes? Why would there be?’

‘Maybe because you can’t look me in the eye properly without grimacing? You bloody well know that you can’t lie to me Harry Potter.’

‘Alright, fine!’ He raised his hands up in surrender, ‘it’s all been going fine, honestly! But we had our meeting yesterday and - you know I put in a request with Kinsley and Robards to have the outside of the ministry? -’

‘After the incidents with McLaggan and Thorpe, yes,’ Hermione interrupted.

‘- Well, we had yesterday’s at Grimmauld because I had to watch Teddy too, right? It was just easier to do it there, only then he stayed and watched Aladdin with me and Ted afterwards, Ted wouldn’t just let him leave, you see? So we watched the film, and that finished, and I put Teddy to bed, but Malfoy was still there. He was just sat on my sofa watching the title sequence of bloody Aladdin going round and round, and he looked a bit miserable so I asked if he wanted a fire whiskey with me and-’

‘ _Harry_!’

‘-and we ended up having a couple of drinks, yeah? And then- well. I’m not really sure how it happened, but he kissed me?’

Ron, who had taken an unfortunately timed sip of his drink, promptly spat it straight back out again over the table and Harry.

‘He bloody what?!’

‘He, erm, kissed me?’ Harry’s voice had never been so small - or high, for that matter.

‘Harry!’ Hermione scolded him How can you have let this happen! You had a level of responsibility as Draco’s parole officer to make sure he feels safe in your office and you don’t abuse that trust.’

Harry tugged at his hair in frustration. ‘You think I don’t know that, Mione?’

‘Honestly, how can this happen?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Were you leading him on?’

‘No! It was just an innocent film followed by an innocent couple of drin-’

‘ _Drinks_ ! You offered him a _couple_ of _drinks_!’ Hermione interrupted him again, her expression was verging on murderous and Harry was absolutely almost terrified.

‘Erm. Yes?’ the words squeaked out of him, and if he wasn’t so scared, he’d be mortified at his apparent reversion to pre-pubescence.

Hermione gave a disbelieving shriek at Harry’s stupidity, and threw her hands up in the air before banging her head against the table, nearly knocking over their drinks. Ron, however, looked deeper in thought than Harry thought he’d ever seen him.

‘Y’know, it sort of makes sense.’ He was tapping his chin and frowning slightly. ‘All those years of fighting. It’s like the muggles say, right, love? You only fight with people you fancy?’

‘You only pull the pig tails of the one you love,’ Hermione’s voice was muffled as she refused to lift her head, but she couldn’t resist correcting the idiom for her husband.

‘Right! So, our Harry here, and the blond ferrety git known as Draco Malfoy,’ he gave a dramatic shudder, ‘have been using fights all these years to cover up the attraction. Correct?’

‘Woah woah woah, attraction? Who said _anything_ about attraction? We were fighting a bloody war most of our lives! I do _not_ fancy the git. His face is too pointy for starters. Not to mention his hair isn’t as silvery anymore, and his stupid eyes are a stupid grey! Who the hell has boring, grey eyes, hmm?’

But Ron and Hermione - having lifted her head from the table, finally - were both just looking at him, mouths open, as he rambled on.

‘… Right?’

Harry felt even more terrified now, as if they could look directly into his chest and see the gymnastics that his heart _still_ insisted on doing, and had been doing ever since Malfoy had been brought up in conversation.

He could feel his cheeks flushing as Ron and Hermione continued to look at him in shock. _Great, now I’m blushing and they’ll_ definitely _think I fancy the git_.

The pair turned to each other and gave a small, knowing smile.

‘Sure, mate. Whatever you say.’ Ron said softly.

Harry took a sip of his drink for something else to do, and finished it off. 

‘Alright,’ he stood up, ‘same again? Who wants another?’

‘Oh, cheers, mate,’

‘Just another lemonade for me please, Harry,’

Well _that_ stopped Harry in his tracks. ‘Lemonade?’

Hermione’s cheeks pinked. ‘Yep.’ She popped the “p”.

‘Not your usual G and T?’

Ron rolled his eyes and chucked at his wife, ‘I mean, we knew he was a bit oblivious but this takes the cake.’

‘Why aren’t you drinking, Mione?’

‘Why do you think, love? Why do women not drink sometimes?’

‘Well, only when they’re pregnant but you can’t…’

Harry watched in disbelief as Hermione’s hand moved down to cup her stomach. Both Hermione’s and Ron’s eyes were shining.

‘Holy shit. You’re pregnant.’

Hermione nodded, hand still cradling her stomach.

‘Holy _shit_ ,’ Harry’s hands flew to his hair, his eyes tearing between his best friend and his other beautiful _pregnant_ best friend, ‘you’re going to be _parents_!’

‘Mate, we know,’ Harry had never seen a bigger smile on Ron’s face.

‘Mate. _Ron_.’ Words can no longer form in Harry’s mind. His best friends are making a whole other human being. ‘This calls for champagne. And the biggest glass of lemonade for the pregnant lady!’

Harry ordered and collected the drinks at the bar, settling for just two glasses of champagne rather than a whole bottle since it was only two of them actually _drinking_ it. Ceremoniously, he deposited the drinks in front of Ron and Hermione.

‘A toast. To my two wonderful, glorious, fantastic, _pregnant_ best friends. You’re both going to be the best parents and this baby will be so loved. I’m so happy for you both. Cheers!’

The three of them brought their glasses together and drank, eyes shining and definitely crying a little bit. (Ron would deny it, claiming to have sympathy-pregnancy-hormones, but everyone knew he was the biggest softie out of the three of them).

‘Actually, Harry, there’s something we wanted to ask you.’ Hermione put down her lemonade and looked from a nodding Ron to a confused Harry. ‘We wanted to ask you if you’d be our baby’s godfather.'

Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock. ‘You want… me? A godfather?’

‘Of course, mate. Who else would we ask?’ Ron was grinning at him.

‘Oh… I’d love- an honour- yes!’ He reached across the table and grabbed both of their hands.

‘I think he’s happy about it, love,’ Ron stage whispered to Hermione, still grinning at Harry.

And he really was _so very happy_ for them both.

But as happy as Harry was, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of jealousy when he looked at his two best friends wrapped back up in each other and their baby bubble. How lucky they had been to fall in love with their best friend, to fit together so well, to understand what the other was thinking and dreaming before they even did themselves.

Was it too much for Harry to ask to find someone like that for himself? Sure, maybe he couldn’t fall in love with his best friend, they were both _very_ married and _very_ pregnant (pregnant!), but he’d tried with Ginny who was near enough a best friend, right? And Harry loved her, he really did, but after the end of it all he just couldn’t shake that it felt more like having sex with a sister rather than a girlfriend, and he was glad they’d stopped _that_ as soon as they had.

He just didn’t have anyone else that would understand exactly what was going on in his head, or what his nightmares were about, or why he still had nightmares all these years later.

Hell, the most action he had got in the past year and a half was a horrific excuse for a “relationship” with Sam from the coffee shop (which had resulted in Harry having to find a new favourite coffee shop) and that kiss from Malfoy last night (which had resulted in a lot of confusion, frustration, nausea, and Malfoy running out of his flat). 

Downing the rest of his drink, Harry grimaced at the hint of nausea the alcohol was beginning to give him. If only he hadn’t invited Malfoy to stay and watch bloody _Aladdin_ with him and Teddy. If only Malfoy hadn’t said yes! They should have just kept it simple: git shows up, git comes in, git hands over invitation, git has parole meeting, git leaves. Simple, no kisses, no one feels sick.

 _Wait, wait, wait…_ oh sweet _Merlin_ , the invitation! How could Harry have forgotten he was supposed to go to Malfoy’s stupid birthday party tomorrow? And who still had “birthday parties” at the ripe old age of twenty one?

Harry gave a big groan of frustration, big enough to draw even mum-and-dad-to-be out of their bubble of happiness.

‘Alright there, mate?’ Ron asked.

‘How am I supposed to act normal tomorrow?’

‘Whats tomorrow?’ Ron looked confused.

‘Oh. Right.’ Harry winced. ‘Erm, well… he invited me to this party he’s having? For his birthday.’

‘And you’re going to go?!’ Hermione screeched at him, and for a split second Harry pitied their unborn child; Hermione was sure to be the strictest mother he would ever know.

‘How can I not? His mum insisted apparently, and she saved my life!’

‘Harry! You cannot possibly think you can stay objective as his parole officer now!’

‘Well unless you’ve forgotten, Mione, I didn’t actually want to be his parole officer in the first place! And he kissed me, not the other way around!’ Harry was about one more sentence away from shouting, which he really didn’t want to do.

Luckily, having known him and his temper so long, Hermione seemed to realise this and changed tack. ‘Alright, alright. I just think you need to be careful now. You don’t know what happened to him,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘ _in Azkaban_ , and it’s no one’s place to tell you but his, but you need to be careful with him and his trust. ’

‘What? I didn’t know something happened, what are you talking about?’

But Hermione just reached across the table and patted his hand. ‘Just make sure he knows he can trust you. He can trust you, right?’

‘Well, of course he can. But what are you talking about?’

‘Nothing, love. Have fun at the party tomorrow, but _don’t_ think you’re off the hook about this whole kissing thing,’ She brandished a wagging finger at him, but the whole effect was ruined by her giving a huge yawn. ‘I think it’s time for us to go, Ron, I’m falling asleep on my feet here.’

‘Alright, love. Let’s get you off home to bed.’ Ron smiled at his wife, a smile so soft and fond and private that Harry almost felt like he was intruding, and had to look away for a second.

Was it too much to ask for someone to look at him like that?

Turning back to Harry, Ron switched his soft smile to more of a sympathetic grimace. ‘Sorry you’ve got to suffer through a Malfoy party, mate, let alone the git _kissing_ you,’ he shuddered, ‘but you couldn’t get me as a backup even if you paid me all the chocolate frogs in the world.’

Harry couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that. Even at the ripe old age of twenty one, with a house, a wife, and a baby on the way, Ronald Bilius Weasley still operated on a payment service of sweets and chocolate. Harry understood though, as much as they had all warmed up to Malfoy over the past few months, he was still a massive git.

A massive git who had kissed Harry yesterday.

A massive git who he was going to have to see again tomorrow.

Harry walked back to the Granger-Weasley residence with his two best friends, even stepping through briefly to make use of the floo rather than attempt to accurately remember the three D’s of apparating after a few pints. He just about made it up the stairs of Grimmauld Place and into his bed before falling fast asleep, to dream of blond-haired men, birthday parties, and kisses.


	11. skele-gro and chocolate frogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - Rape/Non-Consensual Penetrative Sex Referenced/Implied in non-specific detail  
> In this chapter we find out more of what happened to Draco in Azkaban, and the horrors that he was subjected to. I, thankfully, have no personal experience with this myself other than a few instances of minor catcalling/harassment/above the clothes groping before I was old enough to realise the true extent of how horrific this behaviour is, so in the whole of this story I WILL NOT go into masses of detail.  
> If you do not wish to read this chapter, or you think it may be triggering for you, PLEASE DON’T. I think the warning, the knowledge that it happens in Azkaban, and the knowledge of how people treated Death Eaters after the war, will give enough of an indication of the plot, that you do not need to read the section I’ve written on this for this chapter. There will be other mentions of Draco's trauma in following chapters but I will put chapter warnings at the beginning (just like this one) for those who do not wish to read them.  
> I will put “ !!! ” before and after the section as a warning in case you do not wish to read it.  
> I hope I can do this and our boys justice here, and any feedback/criticism/general comments are very very welcome to me!  
> Happy reading xox

~D~

Draco had spent the entire weekend panicking.

He had stewed and worried and felt magnificently sorry for himself all of Saturday and all of Sunday morning, after he had stormed out of number twelve Grimmauld Place on Friday evening. Now, he was a mere half an hour away from the time guests would supposedly begin arriving for this Merlin-forsaken birthday party, and the threat that he might be coming face to face with Potter much sooner than he’d like.

Draco wasn’t stupid, he knew he would have to see Potter eventually for their weekly parole meetings, he’d just hoped he would have a few extra days to save face before being forced into that meeting rather than a mere thirty six hours. And with two months left of his six month parole period before he would be properly free, he had at least eight meetings still to go before he never had to see Harry sodding Potter ever again.

Draco couldn’t wait for it all to be over.

Patch had arrived a few minutes ago, but it had done little to sooth his nerves; Draco was still flooded with the feelings of nausea and terror that threatened to take over, that only increased in intensity as the clock ticked closer and closer to the arrival of his guests. And _Potter_.

 _Merlin_ did he hope that Potter wouldn’t come. He hoped that Potter would use what little brain he had, for once, and not show his face, but Draco knew that even that might be too much to ask of Boy Wonder.

He was brought out of his internal panic by a drink being pushed into his hand. Turning to look (and yell) at the person who dared infringe on his personal space, Draco was instead met with the kind and knowing eyes of one Mister Patrick Waldron.

‘Alright there, D?’

Patch was smirking at him. He was an average height, just about five foot nine, with wavy brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and the warmest olive skin Draco had ever seen. He was, by all means, an incredible average looking man in terms of looks, but to Draco Malfoy he was nothing short of a Greek God. Or an Irish God. A God nonetheless.

Draco knew, of course, that when it came to Patch, he was guilty of wearing rose-tinted glasses, but these things tend to develop when that one face is the only nice one in three years.

‘Fine, P. Just queasy. Don’t wanna be here.’ Draco tried to smile back at him as he took a sip of his drink, but he didn’t have to look into a mirror to know it was more of a grimace.

‘Well which is it? Are you just queasy or do you not want to be here?’

Draco scowled at him. ‘I thought you were supposed to be busy this weekend, anyway.’

‘D, how could you _ever_ think that I’d miss your birthday?’

‘Oh please, as if you had much choice anyway. You and I both know that my mother most likely threatened to have your bollocks if you didn’t show your face.’

Patch let out a bark of laughter at that. ‘You and I also know that she’s threatened to have your bollocks if you don’t attend your own party.’

‘I hate how well you know me now.’

‘Nope. You don’t.’

Draco turned back to look at Patch and found him smirking. A signature Malfoy smirk that he had obviously copied from Draco. He scowled.

‘Oh, come _on_ , Draco! If you carry on scowling, you’ll get wrinkles.’

Draco blanched at the thought of his impeccable Malfoy-Black genetics possibly being _wrinkled_ and immediately wiped his face clean of the scowl, but he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth from twitching up in amusement. If there was one thing Patch knew how to do without fail, it was cheering him up and distracting him from the rest of the world going on around him.

Patch just grinned at him, knowing full well the thoughts going on in Draco’s head. ‘C’mon birthday boy, let’s go greet your guests.’

~H~

‘Y’know, the point of a party isn’t to hide yourself away in a corner the entire time.’

An Irish voice broke Harry out of his reverie; it sounded suspiciously like Seamus but Harry knew that he was off travelling somewhere in South-East Asia with Dean, so it couldn’t possibly be him. Looking up to meet the voice, Harry was fixed in place by the bluest eyes he thought he’d ever seen. Even Dumbledore’s couldn’t have held a candle to these ones.

‘I’m not really a party person,’

‘But you are for Draco?’

‘He saved my life a few years ago, that’s why I’m here I guess. So did Mrs Malfoy, actually.’

‘Wow, you must not have been popular if you needed so many people to save your life. And they both go by Black now.’

‘Black. Right. I was popular, alright, it was just with a megalomaniac who’d had it out for me since before I was born.’

‘You must’ve been a terrible baby then,’ the mysterious Irishman laughed.

‘Nah, he was just crazy.’ Harry took a sip of his drink and looked up at the other man. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?’

Mysterious-Irishman laughed at him again, ‘Sorry, mate, I’m Patch. Patrick. But call me Patch. I’m the only one D really speaks to these days.’

Harry did not like the way that this “Patch” kept laughing at him. Harry wasn’t a particularly funny person these days, and he wasn’t trying to crack any jokes so he certainly wasn’t laughing _with_ him.

But then what he’d said sank in. ‘Wait, you’re not the mysterious “P” are you?’

‘I am indeed, call me Patch, though, please. P is reserved strictly for Draco, I’m afraid. You must be “arsehole parole officer”?’

Harry coughed and he could feel himself blushing slightly. _Get it together, Potter. Not in front of the boyfriend_. ‘Erm yeah, I guess that fits the bill.’ He held his hand out for Patch to shake. ‘Call me Harry.’

Patch, who had reached his hand out to grasp Harry’s in a firm shake, stilled it. ‘ _The_ Harry? Childhood rival of Draco?’

Harry wasn’t expecting that - to be known to someone as Malfoy’s childhood rival rather than _Harry Potter, Destroyer of Dark Lords, Boy Who Lived Twice_. It was nice. Refreshing.

‘I guess you could call me that.’

Both men took large slugs of their drinks.

‘So, erm… how did you meet Malfoy?’ Harry asked, desperate to break the awkward silence between them.

‘Azkaban.’ Patch replied, so confident, so left-field of everything Harry had been suspecting, so _blase_ , it was almost dizzying and Harry almost spat out the sip of punch he’d just taken.

‘Sorry, Azkaban?’ _Was he another Death-Eater-prisoner_?

Patch chuckled. ‘Sorry mate, didn’t mean to shock you there. I work as a guard there. I met Draco whilst he was serving his sentence.’

‘Oh. That makes more sense I guess.’ Harry’s voice trailed off towards the end, and he looked down at his feet. Every mention of Malfoy being in Azkaban brought waves of guilt with it; he hadn’t done enough, should’ve worked harder to keep him out, should’ve thrown his name around to get the sentence reduced to house arrest instead.

‘Harry, it’s not your fault.’

His eyes snapped back up to Patch, his sharp blue eyes filled with kindness and understanding, as if he knew exactly what was going through Harry’s mind. With a start, he realised that his eyes had begun to sting, tears forming in the corners. Harry swiped at his eyes, not wanting Patch, this stranger, Malfoy’s… _whatever_ , to see a moment of weakness from him.

‘How did you know what I was thinking?’

!!!

‘I’m good at that kind of thing. It’s not your fault, Harry,’ Patch repeated, ‘The thing with Draco is… he’s hurting. More than he would ever admit. The war broke him, his father broke him, _prison_ broke him. Yes, you act as a reminder for that, but you were never a cause of the pain so it’s not your job to feel guilty for that, but the reminder hurts him. And when he’s hurt or he’s feeling uncomfortable or insecure or whatever, he lashes out. He tries to make everyone around him feel uncomfortable as well, to distract from himself. I don’t know how that’s manifested itself around you, but I’ll bet you’ve felt uncomfortable?’ Harry nodded his head. ‘Thought so. It’s not personal, Harry, it’s a coping mechanism. I’ve been working with him for three and a half years now, but we’re only just starting to make some progress.’

‘Because he’s out of Azkaban?’

‘Exactly. Now, what happened to him - his trauma - is his to tell and I can’t share it, patient confidentiality and all that, but he’s also my friend and he trusts me more than he trusts almost anyone at this point. If he trusts you enough then he’ll tell you, but for now, just know that he’s doing the best that he can, alright?’

‘Yeah… wait, what do you mean patient confidentiality? I thought you were a guard?’ Harry was confused.

‘I am a guard, but I’m also a licensed psychiatrist.

‘You’re a Mind Healer?’

‘Not a Mind Healer, a muggle psychiatrist. I might be a wizard, but I’m muggleborn, so I’m a Muggle first and foremost, and proud of it. After I graduated Hogwarts I went to university up in Belfast, got my psychology degree, and got licensed. When I heard after the war the Azkaban was hiring for human guards, I jumped at the chance; I could use my qualifications to help people - _all_ people - when they needed it most. And for free. As I became friends with Draco, I began to help him unpack his trauma and deal with it in a healthy way. Although, as I said, we’ve only managed to have proper breakthroughs after his release. After he got out of that hell hole.’

!!!

Harry was quiet, brows furrowed as he thought it all through. It made sense, pieces were clicking into place; the phone calls with this mysterious family friend, the fact that they were _phone_ calls rather than owls, the fact that Malfoy was the most well-adjusted release from Azkaban that Harry had ever seen. He’d had therapy through it all. With this _Patch_. And his sparkling blue eyes and soft curly hair and a smile that made you feel safe.

‘So you’re not… you and him. You’re not…’

‘Together? Gods no,’ Patch chuckled. ‘Draco and I are firm friends and that’s all. I love him, but in the way you might love a brother. Besides, I don’t think Draco’s ready for that in his life just yet.’

 _But he kissed me on Friday night_ , Harry wanted to say. _You’re wrong. You don’t know him as well as you think_.

But the jealousy that had spiraled through him at the sight of Patch, as the sight of the ease Malfoy had with him, refused to remove itself from his system. The jealousy Harry felt over something as petty as the thought that Malfoy could be comfortable with this man and not with him, tore him up and he couldn’t get over it.

‘Harry.’

At the sound of his name Harry’s eyes snapped back up.

‘Can I ask you a question?’

Patch’s eyes bore into his, but he remained silent until Harry gave him a quick half-nod.

‘Why do you call Draco, Malfoy?’

Of all the things Harry thought Patch could have asked him, why he still called Malfoy _Malfoy_ was definitely not on the list. 

‘Oh. Erm. Habit, I guess? He’s always called me Po- erm, my surname, and I’ve always called him Malfoy. It’s just a habit at this point. It would feel weird to call him anything else.’

‘Could you try it though? “Malfoy” was his father, Draco is just Draco. Him and Narcissa have distanced themselves from that man as much as they can by choosing to go by Black now, you calling him Malfoy just brings up all that hurt again.’

‘Just Draco. Right.’ Harry frowned down at his glass of punch. He’d never thought of it that way before. _I guess because I’m the only Potter I know, I don’t get reminded of anyone else when I’m called “_ Potter _”_ . Calling Malfoy, _Draco_ would definitely take some practise, but habits can be broken and new habits can be forged.

‘Stop psychoanalysing my guests, P.’ The unmistakable, posh drawl of Mal- _Draco_ came floating over from where he was saunting towards them.

‘Guests? I thought I was your “arsehole parole officer”?’

M- Draco’s eyes widened ever so slightly at that, before snapping over to Patch and fixing him with a glare. ‘I told you that little pet name in private, P.’

‘Oh, you’ve got pet names for me now, have you?’

Draco slowly turned his steely grey gaze back over to Harry, and Harry tried his best not to cringe away, but Draco just smirked at him. ‘I thought you knew about my pet names for you, sweetheart, or is this just your way of saying you prefer me to call you “sweetheart” over anything else?’

‘Merlin, no. It makes me feel physically sick when you do.’

‘Great, that makes both of us.’

‘Great.’

‘Great!’ Patch interrupted their bickering, ‘D, I’m gonna go find your marvel of a mother and update her on your… interesting methods of flirting so… see ya!’

Draco and Harry, who had both just taken sips of their drinks to avoid looking at each other, simultaneously began to choke on them. Patch let out a bark of laughter as he walked away from them.

Flirting?

But this was just how they spoke to each other, always had been. Admittedly, yes, their interactions had involved more hexes and curses whilst still at school, and they seemed to have mellowed out a great deal during the years since and their parole period together, but _flirting_?

There was categorically no way that Harry fancied anything to do with Draco sodding Malfoy.

Right?

But then there had been that kiss on Friday night, and Harry knew that if Draco hadn’t caught him so much by surprise then there was the possibility that he might have reciprocated on instinct. But this was _Malfoy_! He couldn’t like him! He was a class A git, pain to be around, and altogether a pain in the arse. No other feelings involved here, thankyouverymuch.

~D~

Draco could have murdered Patch. At least, he would have, if he hadn’t already been on parole for being a Death Eater and his parole officer hadn’t been standing right next to him.

Instead, he went for the much safer (although much less satisfying) approach of thinking through a selection of rather colourful expletives to describe his supposed “best friend”. His “best friend” that could apparently read him like a book no matter how many shields or layers of masks that he put up.

As soon as he had glimpsed Patch talking to Potter across the room, he knew that nothing good could come from it. And then Patch had gone and accused him of _flirting_ with Potter (which he was, but that was none of P’s business) before swanning off to find his mother and tell her of his supposed (definite) flirting. Brilliant.

Judging by the look on Potter’s face though, he hadn’t expected to be accused of any such thing, and the thought of flirting with Draco had obviously disgusted him a little bit. And wasn’t _that_ just a kick to the teeth.

He sighed. ‘Look, Potter. Thanks for coming and helping me save face with my mother. Especially after… what happened.’ Potter pulled a face at that, as if he couldn’t quite believe that Draco had remembered it - that it was real - let alone that Draco had actually, consciously brought it up.

‘It’s fine. I didn’t have anything else to do, anyway.’

‘Right. Well, thanks anyway. And I don’t know what else P said to you but I guess you know who he is now?’ Potter nodded. ‘Right, so yeah. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try and get to the bottom of all my trauma yourself. That’s what I don’t pay P for. And, not to be rude,’ he waggled a finger between them, gesturing to them both, ‘but you and I? We’re not friends.’

Potter’s face hardened at that, like he was somehow hurt at the insinuation, but they _really weren’t friends_. ‘Right. Well I guess I’ll just go then? I’ve shown my face, helped you out with your mum, been dropped a load of ominous hints about some obvious trauma you’ve got that I can’t ask abou-’

‘Everyone has a chapter they don’t read out loud, Potter. My chapter is the last five years.’ Draco interrupted, praying to every god he could think of that might be sparing a glance his way at that very moment.

‘What do you mean you don’t read it out loud?’

‘There’s only so much skele-gro and chocolate frogs can mend. The kind of scars I got in Azkaban? You can’t see them, but I feel them. Every second of every day.’

And with that, Draco walked away, not caring if Potter followed or stayed in that corner or left the house. Draco just knew he had to walk far _far_ away or else he might start having flashbacks and panic attacks and he wasn’t about to go ruining the hardened criminal reputation he’d been trying to build up around Potter for the past four months.

~H~

But it turns out, Draco opening up, even just a little, was enough for all of Harry’s common sense and willpower to disappear.

Because Harry knew, deep, _deep_ down, that he absolutely should not want Malfoy like this.

Not least because Malfoy was his parolee, his charge, his bloody childhood rival for Merlin’s sake! But right there, bubbling merrily away on the surface, was such an intense want - a _need_ \- for everything Draco Malfoy might want to give him, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the million and one rational reasons why he shouldn’t give in to that anymore.

With a crack, Harry landed back in his living room at Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew. there we go. I'm not 100% happy with this & work is slowly killing all my motivation/inspiration for this story, so who the hell knows where we'll end up from here  
> kudos & comments give me LIFE as always xoxo


	12. internal Potter musings

~H~

Harry wanted to hex Andromeda for suggesting this place.

He hadn’t set foot in _Lou’s Java_ since his disastrous excuse for a date with Sam, the sexy blond barista that had only been after one thing: riding on the coattails of Harry’s fame. Harry didn’t even want to ride on his own fame, let alone be used by someone else like that. It was always the same, every witch or wizard that approached him, approached him because he was _Harry Potter_ , Chosen One, Boy Who Lived Twice. All that bullshit.

In hindsight, he really should have known that was what Sam was after; he’d booked a table at one of the most popular new restaurants in Wizarding Britain, used _Harry’s name_ when making the booking, and made sure to say Harry’s name extra loudly when he spoke to him.

Okay, maybe he was just being overly sensitive on the last one - he couldn’t _really_ start policing the volume that people spoke to him after all - but Harry was convinced that Sam had had something to do with the reporter that had coincidently been sat two tables down from them!

So yeah, Harry wanted to curse Andi for suggesting that they come to _Lou’s_ for their weekly Wednesday coffee/meet-up/Teddy chat this week.

And of course, it just so happened to be the one immediately after his horrific weekend with Malfoy. Not that Andi knew about his horrific weekend being invited to a party for Malfoy’s birthday, being kissed by Malfoy, and then promptly ignored by Malfoy at said birthday party, but even so, he didn’t appreciate any of it in the slightest.

Harry sighed. So here he was: queueing up for coffee he didn’t want, in a shop he really didn’t want to be in, just to spend some time with his godson and Andi. What he _really_ wanted to do was go find Malfoy and-

‘Oh. Hi, Harry.’

Harry looked up, all thoughts of Malfoy gone, he knew that voice. But when his eyes fixed on to who had spoken, anyone could have seen them harden. For the sake of politeness in a public setting, he nodded. ‘Sam.’

Sam’s own eyes flashed with hurt at Harry’s curt tone and hardened expression but, Harry thought to himself, _he hurt me first_.

‘What can I get you? Your usual?’

‘Don’t do that. Don’t act familiar.’

Harry hated him. Wanted to hate him _so much_. He felt his face twist up, his heart squeeze, and something in his stomach knot up again. But it only took one look back up into those eyes, those shining blue eyes that look so sincere and full of hints of guilt and hope, for all of his previous reservations and resentments to fade away into the background. Harry knows that he’s got so much going on in his own head to sort out before he could even consider anything to do with Sam again, but the ease of it all, the familiarity, was almost enough for him to just dive straight back in head first.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said, sounding chastised.

Harry sighed and shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. Two lattes and a hot chocolate, please.’

‘Sure. Right away.’

Sam set about making the drinks straight away and Harry had to commend him for his level of professionalism, even though it felt like their interaction was being scrutinised and dissected by (no one) everyone in the cafe, ready to report to the _Prophet_ at a moment's notice.

The second the drinks were ready, Harry handed over a handful of galleons that was definitely more than required, took the drinks from the counter, and resolutely did not look at Sam again as he made his way to the table Andi had chosen.

It wasn’t until after Harry had sat down opposite Andi, placed one of the coffees in front of her and the hot chocolate in front of an enthusiastic Teddy, and they’d all got past the first few sips, that Andromeda spoke.

‘You know, Harry, I think whatever you said made that barista over there quite upset with you.’

Harry just looked at her over the lip of his mug. ‘Is he blond, fairly short, blue eyes?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Good. I hope he’s upset.’

‘Harry!’ She scolded, ‘how could you say that! What’s the poor boy ever done to you?’

‘Andi, I don’t think you understand; that’s _Sam_.’

To her credit, Andromeda’s eyes narrowed almost instantly and she cast a disdainful gaze over to the coffee bar, where Harry could only hope that Sam was squirming uncomfortably.

 _Good. Let him suffer_.

Harry kept his attention trained onto the coffee in his hands and the joy on his godson’s face every time he took a sip of his own sugary hot chocolate. His weekly meetings with Teddy and Andi were just about the only thing getting him through these days, always in the afternoons to fit in with Teddy’s morning nursery time, but they’re still the only reliable event by which he could mark the passing of yet another week.

All other events, be it the fortnightly pub night with Ron and Hermione (although he manages to duck out of those when he can think of a convincing enough excuse, not often, but he does), or the occasional Sunday roast at the Burrow with all five hundred members of the Weasley extended family (okay, maybe there was only thirty people at most, and those lunches were much easier to duck out of, but he still makes an effort to go on special occasions, Molly would never forgive him if he didn’t), manage to blur into one and be forgotten about as soon as they occur.

So really it was just Teddy and Andi keeping him going really, with their weekly Wednesday coffee meet ups. That and the weekly parole meetings he was having with Mal- _Draco_.

Harry was dreading their meeting on Friday, already knowing how awkward and stilted it would be between them after Draco had kissed him last week. His head had been swimming with thoughts about how Draco would behave, how he would talk to him, after Harry had rejected him and his kiss in all but the physical words.

It hadn’t been helped in any way by Harry actually _going_ to Draco’s birthday party after what had happened, and what had been revealed through the conversation they had had there. Harry’s mind had been going over and over what could have possibly happened to Draco that was something unable to be healed by skele-gro or chocolate frogs and, short of some kind of mental abuse, he was coming up blank.

His mind was still whirring when he realised that Andi was trying to speak to him.

‘Now. Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind? Or are we going to just sit here in silence this week?’ Andi’s smile was kind, but there was a glint of knowing in her eyes that Harry didn’t like one bit.

‘What makes you think I’ve got something on my mind?’

‘Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re lost thinking about something?’

‘It’s nothing,’ he lied.

‘Harry James Potter. Do not lie to me.’

Harry cringed, was he really so easy to read? Rather than meeting her steely gaze, Harry turned to concentrate on his godson and began helping him spoon the whipped cream from the top of his hot chocolate into his mouth.

‘Don’t think you can get out of this by ignoring me, mister. You forget who my sister is. And _who her son_ is.’

Harry’s eyes widened at that. Andi’s sister was Narcissa Malfoy, who was obviously the mother of Draco; a connection that he conveniently _had_ forgotten about until her mentioning it, and he’d been in their bloody house for a bloody birthday party just a few days before.

‘I thought you weren’t talking to your sister, something about… being disowned from the family?’

Andi narrowed her eyes at him, but Harry pretended not to notice.

‘Cissa and I have actually got back in contact in recent months, I’ll have you know.’

‘ _What_?’

‘Don’t make me repeat myself, Harry, dear. It was just before Draco was released from Azkaban, and I suppose Cissa was feeling nostalgic about family. We’ve been exchanging owls for just over four months now.’

‘But that’s amazing, Andi!’ All notions of avoiding Andi’s gaze gone from his mind, Harry stared over at her and all of a sudden wanted to know every single detail.

But Andi just smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief at him.

‘Well? Tell me everything! Is it just owls? Have you been meeting up? _Will_ you meet up? Do they know about Ted-’

‘ _Harry_ , dear, calm down. _No_ , it’s not just been owls, _yes_ , we have met for tea a couple of times _,_ and _yes_ , they are aware of my wonderful grandson here.’ She smiled warmly down at Teddy, who gurgled up at her in response and flushed his hair to his favourite bright teal colour.

‘This is amazing, Andi, honestly. You’ve been talking about wanting to get back in touch for years now. I’m so happy you’re reconnecting.’

And Harry truly was happy for her. He knew how it felt to be stuck with no family (or, no family worth mentioning, anyway), and as much as the Malfoy name wasn’t worth a knut anymore, Narcissa and Draco were Blacks by blood, and had just as much claim to the name as Andi did as a Tonks.

‘Yes, my sister and I have had many a discussion about the young men we look after,’ she shot him a suspicious looking side-eye as she mopped up the mess Teddy had made with the last of his hot chocolate, ‘and we’ve both decided that it would be much better for them in the long run if they learnt to move on from past mistakes.’

Harry blinked at her. ‘By young men, you mean me and Malfoy, don’t you.’ It was not a question, nor did Andromeda treat it as one.

‘I do. But I’m not going to corral you into something I know to be a futile attempt. Come on, Teddy will start getting fussy if we stay any longer.’

Andromeda made to stand and fix Teddy up into a form that would vaguely allow for leaving the establishment at some point in the next half an hour, leaving Harry to sit and stew in his own thoughts for a few minutes more.

Andi had been having - what can only be assumed as long and in depth, if one knew what purebloods were like - discussions about his relations with Ma- Draco? And they thought that Harry and Draco should be friends? What could the chances be of this coming off the back of Draco’s friend Patch at the weekend, encouraging Harry to start calling him _Draco_ for Merlin’s sake.

Dazedly, Harry stood and made to follow Andi and Teddy to the door to leave, lost in his own thoughts once again. But before he could make it, he felt a hand on his arm. Turning to look, he saw that not only was it Sam, but that everyone sitting in the cafe was now watching them, unashamedly, with rapt attention.

‘Harry. I just wanted to say-’

‘Just don’t. I know what you’ll say and what you want me to say back and I _can’t_. I’d say it’s not you, that it’s me, but actually this one is all on you.’

Sam’s eyes flicked to the floor in a mock submission, Harry didn’t believe the show for a single second. ‘I know, and I’m sorry.’

‘I accept your apology, but you’re not forgiven.’ Sam went to interrupt, his face the perfect picture of the jilted ex-boyfriend, not that they’d even reached that stage, but Harry carried on over him. ‘You hurt me, Sam. I trusted you and you threw that away. I thought you might have been able to see past the lies the _Prophet_ tells, that you might’ve been interested in plain ol’ Harry, that me being a bloody regular in this bloody cafe might mean you know me better than the _Prophet_ does. But it turns out you’re exactly the same as those parasites. You don’t care about _Harry_ , you just care about _Golden Boy Harry Potter_ and what his fame can get you.’

Harry removed Sam’s hand from his arm and turned to Luke, the barista behind the bar who had dropped the hint that Sam had liked him in the first place, and grimaced at him.

‘Sorry, mate. I won’t be coming here any more. I’ll see you around if you ever venture up to George’s shop.’

Luckily for Harry, Luke was a true friend and just nodded understandingly at him before narrowing his eyes at the back of Sam’s unsuspecting head. Harry had to stifle a smirk whilst still in full view of Sam, but he had a feeling that Sam was in for a nasty bit of discipline from his boss there, if not being fired with immediate effect for losing the cafe’s most famous patron.

Turning away from the cafe and out of the door, Harry followed Andi as she walked down Diagon with a wobbling Teddy holding her hand. Harry felt sick, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this afternoon’s events would be in the next edition of the _Prophet_ before the ink had time to dry.

~D~

Draco felt sick.

It was his first parole meeting post-kiss. Post-meeting at Harry’s house, playing with young Edward, watching that hilarious atrocious muggle film, kissing his parole officer, and storming out after said parole officer didn’t kiss him back. Post-disastrous encounter at his Merlin-forsaken “birthday party” where he stormed out _yet again_ after seeing his parole officer, and definitely did not cry in his room until Patch came to find him.

He hadn’t even wanted the bloody party in the first place. It was all Narcissa’s idea, and that had been so obviously reflected in the guests being made up almost entirely of her friends since Draco refused to get back in contact with his own after his release from Az- from _prison_.

But anyway, it wasn’t like Draco had any friends left to invite in the first place: they’d all made themselves scarce before the Wizengamot had even finished reading out his sentence.

So, Draco felt sick.

He absolutely definitely did _not_ want to see Potter. Did not want to have another two months of parole meetings with him before his sentence finished. Unfortunately, he also did not have much of a choice.

The time it took to get from his and his mother’s tiny house, to the ministry, down to Potter’s office, and sitting in the chair opposite him, passed by in a flash and Draco’s not entirely sure he could remember how he did any of it.

‘Malfoy.’ Potter sounded almost cordial. ‘How’ve you been?’

 _How had he been_? What kind of question was that, Draco wondered. Did Potter mean today specifically? In the past week? Since their kiss? During Azkaban? During the war? He was going to have to narrow it down a bit. But still, proper pureblood protocol was still deeply embedded into his reactions to social interactions, and he replied with an equally cordial - if not, slightly strained - ‘I’ve been perfectly well, thank you, Potter.’

Potter looked just as stunned as Draco had felt in giving a reply without snark or biting comment. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him; he couldn’t recall ever speaking to Potter with anything other than malice, or complete disinterest in his parole meetings.

‘Right. Well. Good.’

Draco is thankful that his traitorous mouth doesn’t release the snort he so desperately wants to make, but he is disappointed in himself for allowing the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards ever so slightly. He has appearances to uphold, after all.

‘So. erm. How’s your week been?’

‘ _Merlin_ , Potter. Are you really going to go the whole nineteen yards with this small talk?’

‘Oh I’m sorry, forgive me for trying to not make this more awkward than it has to be.’

‘This is you trying _not_ to make it awkward?’

‘Ye-’

‘And you apologised! What’s that, the first time you’ve ever said the word “sorry” in your life?’

‘Oh like you’re one to talk, Malfoy-’

‘Perfect Potter and his-’

‘Bloody posh prat, bet you’ve never-’

‘Saviour complex, can’t do any-’

‘Apologised for anything either, you-’

‘Thing wrong, Saint Potter, saviour of the wizarding-’

‘Bloody blood purist, never lifted a finger-’

‘World, bet you just love all this attention don’t you Potter?’

‘In your life. And you come in here, ranting at _me_?’

‘The Famous Harry Potter. Popped out any weasels with the Weaselette yet?’

‘You’re a sodding hypocrite. I can’t believe I saved your-’

‘Knowing her you’ll have seven? Eight?’

‘Skinny arse in the room of Requirement, could’ve saved myself-’

‘All ratty little redheads. Bet you love that don’t you, Potter-’

‘This headache. You absolute arse.’

‘I suppose it’s too late to show you the right sor-’

‘ENOUGH,’ Potter roared, before taking a deep breath and seemingly collecting himself. Stepping away from the fight, reminding himself that he was actually Draco’s parole officer and not a fourteen-year-old fighting in the middle of a Hogwarts courtyard, it was all very disappointing. ‘Now, if you could stop being such a git, I’d like to get on with these bloody questions.’

‘But Potter, you and I both know that you _love_ it when I’m a git to you.’ Draco smirked at him, he’d definitely won that little fight. Potter rolled his eyes in response, in a not entirely unaffectionate way.

‘Right. Has your employment changed?’

‘No.’

‘Has your living situation changed?’

‘No.’

‘Have you- damn. Out of ink. Hang on.’

As Potter reached across his desk for some more ink, his sleeve rode up a couple of inches. _Devastating_ , Draco would have to give him a proper lesson in owning clothing of appropriate lengths to fit his body. A nicely tailored shirt would suit Potter much better than the muggle garments he usually wears, anyway, not to mention it would be much more office appropriate. Draco always could appreciate a handsome man in a well-tailored suit.

But the ill-fitting muggle top wasn’t the only thing that caught Draco’s eye. No, it was the fresh looking protective film that was wrapped around Potter’s left wrist, only visible where the sleeve had ridden up.

Now, Draco didn’t work at a tattoo parlour for nothing; he could recognise a protective film that goes around a new tattoo when he saw one. But to his knowledge, Potter hadn’t been back into the parlour since Draco had inked that stag for him, and that was a few months ago now.

Did Potter sneak into the parlour to get a tattoo without Draco noticing?

Without mentioning it to Draco at all?

Did he not want Draco to notice? To know? To have anything to do with this new tattoo? And what _was_ the tattoo? The stretch Potter had made to reach a new jar of ink hadn’t been enough to reveal the entire thing to Draco, but he certainly wasn’t about to stoop so low as to _ask_.

‘Okay… have you taken any illegal potions?’ Potter continued, having seemingly not noticed the minor mental breakdown Draco was having over the sight of his fresh tattoo.

‘No.’

‘Have you taken out a new potion prescription without informing your parole officer beforehand?’

‘Don’t you think you’d know if I had? No.’

 _What was Potter’s tattoo_?

‘No need to be a prick. Have you been in contact with anyone not permitted by the terms of your parole?’

‘No.’

 _When did he come in for it_?

‘Have you visited anyone at the prison of Azkaban?’

‘Not bloody likely.’

Potter’s eyes flicked up at him at that, full of an emotion Draco didn’t have time to deal with today. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was any kind of _pity_ or _sympathy_. He’d had enough of that from Patch and his mother, he didn’t need it from Harry fucking Potter, too.

 _Why did Eddie keep Potter’s appointment from him?_ Usually, his boss would be shouting from the rooftops of Diagon at Boy Wonder coming into the parlour for an appointment, so how come Draco hadn’t heard about it before now?

‘Have you been contacted in any way by any known or unknown Death Eaters?’

Draco blinked. That was a new one, and it succeeded in distracting him completely from all internal Potter musings. Was the Ministry having issues with some of the old crowd? Were they not all locked up nice and tight in Az- _prison_ like he had been?

‘No contact. No. Should I have been?’

Potter eyed him carefully, his own eyes narrowed in an expression Draco knew only too well; one that implied he thought Draco might be _up to something_.

‘No you shouldn’t,’ Potter said, finally. ‘It would violate your parole. You _know_ that, Dra- Malfoy.’

Hang on, had Potter been just about to call him _Draco_? It was Draco’s turn to narrow his eyes now, where had that bloody come from? It seemed that Potter had noticed his slip up, too, if the attractive light dusting of pink across his cheeks was anything to go by.

‘Right.’

The pair of them sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

‘Is that all?’ Draco asked, ‘can I go?’

Potter looked down at a wrist watch. ‘We’ve still got half an hour, I’m not supposed to let you leave before we’ve had the full time. So I guess we’ll just sit here and enjoy each other’s company?’

 _Enjoy each other’s company_? Honestly, what was Potter thinking? Draco raised one singular eyebrow in what he knew would show as a highly unamused expression.

Silence.

If this was Potter’s idea of “enjoying each other’s company”, then someone needed to have a strict word with him about how to actually _enjoy_ the things around him. This was not enjoyable.

It did seem, however, that Potter could tell just how awful this extended silence between them was. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Potter fidgeting in his chair, running his hands through that bird's nest he called hair, and his eyes darting between Draco and absolutely anything else.

 _Interesting_.

It seemed to be that Potter was uncomfortable being here in Draco’s company. Draco wasn’t enjoying it, yes, but he wasn’t uncomfortable to say the least, merely bored. Perhaps there was some fun to be had here?

Almost instantly, at least fifteen different ways to make Potter even more uncomfortable flitted through Draco’s mind, each not good enough and yet even more satisfying than the last. Just how far would Draco be able to push Potter before he snapped? Before he saw that familiar fire behind his eyes and those infernal glasses? The fire that had driven him throughout all his years at Hogwarts, and reminded him there was life waiting for him on the other side of Az- _prison_.

No matter how many sessions Draco had with Patch, he still couldn’t bring himself to say the name.

Maybe he could flirt with Potter again? It seemed to work before last Friday, so Draco couldn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t work _after_ Friday. It wasn’t like Draco had meant anything by kissing Potter. Merlin, it was obviously just the fire whiskey talking, not Draco’s own pathetic emotions!

Maybe he could embarrass Potter by asking if he wanted to go for a drink? He seemed to have been responding fairly well when Draco had attempted it last Friday, when they’d been able to relax with young Edward and then share a fire whiskey. It had only been Draco’s surprise attack of a misguided kiss that had resulted in their remaining interactions being so awkward, he wouldn’t be trying it again, that’s for sure.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Potter was desperate enough to leap at the chance to go for a drink with him, though. Not that Draco wasn’t a catch, and he definitely was, but it would significantly damage Potter’s reputation to be seen with a _Death Eater_ , let alone a _Malfoy_. Hell, maybe it would even hurt him a bit to be seen out and about with a man!

Summoning up as much Gryffindor courage (not that he should have needed bravery; he was making fun of Potter, wasn’t he?) as he could possibly stomach in an inherently Slytherin body, Draco asked the question before he could lose his nerve.

‘Listen… Potter. I was wondering if-’

‘Nope. No no no no. I’m gonna stop you right there. If this has anything to do with the, er, _events_ that, erm, _transpired_ at last week’s meeting, I’m gonna have to ask you to stop. And possibly never mention them again. Yep. most definitely. Please do not mention them again.’

Draco was speechless. Any less favourable upbringing and his jaw would have been on the floor in shock. Not only had Potter interrupted him - a social faux pas _très grande_ in his humble opinion - but he had then proceeded to effectively ban all discussions of the “events that transpired” last week, as though he’d been disgusted by them or wanted to _obliviate_ the memory from his mind and never think of Draco again.

So: shocked.

Thoughts of ‘ _How dare Potter ruin my fun like that_ ?’ were quickly followed by thoughts of ‘ _How dare Potter be disgusted_ ?’ If Draco hadn’t heard Potter’s own stilted coming out himself, he would be back on the belief that Potter was just a massive homophobe and was disgusted by the thought of being gay. But knowing that Potter himself actually had relations with other men too? It was obvious. It was _Draco_ that Potter was so disgusted by.

How _dare_ he.

As if he had been hit with a stinging hex, Draco leapt up from his seat. Shooting Potter the most aggrieved glare he could possibly muster, Draco spun around on his heels and marched out of the room, not caring a second for Potter’s feeble calls to stay for the remaining few minutes of their meeting. As fucking if.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me finally updating after not being able to find the will/motivation/right words for what feels like months? but has probably only been two weeks? to make up for it I think this is my longest chapter yet? they seem to just be getting longer and longer I have no self control  
> all inspiration just left me and for that I am sorry, but I shall stick by these idiotic boys until their story is finished, I owe them that much. I DID however find the motivation for a teeny tiny one shot called 'was this a date' of our fave HP/DM in the muggle world so go give that a read if you fancy!  
> comments and kudos give me lifeeeeeeee xox


	13. a poor, bisexual, red-blooded male

~H~

‘Malfoy. How’ve you been?’

After his conversation with Andi on Wednesday, and everything that Malfoy’s friend Patch had said to him on Sunday at the party, Harry had decided to try his best at being a bit nicer to him, as unnatural as it felt. He knew he should probably start calling him _Draco_ too, which felt even more unnatural, but if “Malfoy” reminded him of his good-for-nothing-toe-rag of a father, Harry couldn’t really blame M-Draco for wanting a bit of distance. But it was going to take a lot of getting used to, even if Draco didn’t hex him for it first.

‘I’ve been perfectly well, thank you, Potter.’

Harry felt stunned, had Draco really just responded civilly to him? Had they had an interaction that didn’t involve insults or shouting or raised wands? Was he in some kind of alternate universe?

‘Right. Well. Good.’ Harry looks down to read the papers he has in front of him in an effort to not seem entirely like the idiot he knows he sounds like, but he doesn’t miss the slight twitch in the corners of Draco’s mouth. _The git was bloody laughing at him_!

‘So. erm. How’s your week been?’

‘ _Merlin_ , Potter. Are you really going to go the whole nineteen yards with this small talk?’

‘Oh I’m sorry, forgive me for trying to not make this more awkward than it has to be.’

‘This is you trying _not_ to make it awkward?’

‘Ye-’

‘And you apologised! What’s that, the first time you’ve ever said the word “sorry” in your life?’

‘Oh like you’re one to talk, D-Malfoy-’

‘Perfect Potter and his-’

‘Bloody posh prat, bet you’ve never-’

‘Saviour complex, can’t do any-’

‘Apologised for anything either, you-’

‘Thing wrong, Saint Potter, saviour of the wizarding-’

‘Bloody blood purist, never lifted a finger-’

‘World, bet you just love all this attention don’t you Potter?’

‘In your life. And you come in here, ranting at _me_?’

‘The Famous Harry Potter. Popped out any weasels with the Weaselette yet?’

‘You’re a sodding hypocrite. I can’t believe I saved your-’

‘Knowing her you’ll have seven? Eight?’

‘Skinny arse in the room of Requirement, could’ve saved myself-’

‘All ratty little redheads. Bet you love that don’t you, Potter-’

‘This headache. You absolute arse.’

‘I suppose it’s too late to show you the right sor-’

‘ENOUGH,’ Harry roared. He took a deep breath and tried desperately to collect himself; Hermione was always laying into him for not getting his temper under control, she’d given him exercises for it and everything. So he tried to step away from the fight, and remind himself that him and Draco were adults now, twenty one years old with a whole lifetime’s worth of life experience already under their belts. They weren’t fourteen-year-olds fighting in the middle of a Hogwarts courtyard anymore. ‘Now, if you could stop being such a git, I’d like to get on with these bloody questions.’

‘But Potter, you and I both know that you _love_ it when I’m a git to you.’ Ma-Draco smirked at him, his voice all low and sultry. Harry rolled his eyes in response, angling his head down so that the heat on his face wouldn’t be visible. _Why did he keep having such embarrassing reactions to everything Draco said in that sex voice_ ? _How was a poor, bisexual, red-blooded male supposed to cope_?

‘Right. Has your employment changed?’ Like he really needed to ask, he’d been in there only yesterday and Eddie had made sure Draco was none the wiser, no need to repeat _that_ particularly uncomfortable afternoon.

‘No.’

‘Has your living situation changed?’

‘No.’

‘Have you- damn. Out of ink. Hang on.’ He reached across his desk for his extra bottles of ink. It made his sleeve ride up a fraction, but Harry was fairly certain his brand new tattoo would remain hidden. ‘Okay… have you taken any illegal potions?’ 

‘No.’ The word came out slightly hoarse, as if Draco was all of a sudden finding it difficult to breath, but Harry ignored it, figuring that Draco was just being his usual dramatic self.

‘Have you taken out a new potion prescription without informing your parole officer beforehand?’

‘Don’t you think you’d know if I had? No.’

‘No need to be a prick. Have you been in contact with anyone not permitted by the terms of your parole?’

‘No.’

‘Have you visited anyone at the prison of Azkaban?’

‘Not bloody likely.’

Harry’s eyes flicked up at him at that. He had known, of course, that the only person Draco would have any notions of seeing would have been his father, and that there was no chance of Draco ever wanting to see his father again, but still. He had to ask. It was on his list.

He took a deep breath before his next question. ‘Have you been contacted in any way by any known or unknown Death Eaters?’

Draco blinked. ‘No contact. No. Should I have been?’

Harry wasn’t surprised at the answer, but Draco’s reaction to it could have provided some sort of evidence in some case against a new group of Neo-Death Eaters that the main aurors were trying to build. Not that anyone would tell him any more details than that, apparently destroying a Dark Lord means fuck all to people who’ve been doing it for a living for longer than he’d been alive. But still, anyone who knew anything about Draco Malfoy knew that he’d wanted nothing to do with the _original_ Death Eaters, let alone a brand new group that seemed even more unhinged than the last lot.

‘No you shouldn’t,’ he said, finally, unsurprisingly feeling relieved at Draco’s reaction. ‘It would violate your parole. You _know_ that, Dra- Malfoy.’

Harry winced and felt his face flush with pink. He knew he’d promised Patch to start calling Draco _Draco_ \- and he was trying, honest! - but calling him Draco to his face was a whole ‘nother ball park that Harry just couldn’t bring himself to face just yet. If he got an earful about it from Patch later, so be in. If Draco started calling him “Harry” out of the blue, he’d be freaking out and throwing hexes; Draco’s shock-horror seemed like a particularly mild response in comparison. 

‘Right.’

The pair of them sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

‘Is that all?’ Draco asked, ‘can I go?’

Harry checked his watch. ‘We’ve still got half an hour, I’m not supposed to let you leave before we’ve had the full time. So I guess we’ll just sit here and enjoy each other’s company?’

Draco raised one singular perfect eyebrow and looked highly unimpressed. Harry tried desperately not to wince again.

Silence.

Harry started fidgeting. He couldn’t help it. Draco wasn’t looking his way anyway (not that Harry knew, because he was resolutely _not_ looking over to where Draco was sat), so it was a great relief to finally be out from under that pale, unnerving, grey gaze. Draco was very much like his aunt in that respect, Harry thought; it must be the Black blood in them, all aristocratic and well-bred and snooty.

But when said snooty gaze is coming from the eyes of the man who kissed you last week, a fact which Harry had successfully managed to ignore up until this silence, it suddenly became a whole lot more awkward.

How could Draco have just gone and kissed him? Didn’t he realise how messed up that would be? Harry was his parole officer, for Merlin’s sake! Harry blamed the fire whiskey. They’d both been drinking and singing along and dancing to Teddy’s film, and it had been weird and intimate and they’d been carried away with it.

Harry couldn’t stop his mind from racing through it all. From stealing glances at Draco when he wasn’t looking - and when he was, which made Harry want to crawl into a hole and never be seen again.

But was Malfoy - _Draco_ \- really so messed up from Voldemort and his dad and being a Death Eater and Azkaban that he had no concept of right and wrong when it came to acting around people who he really shouldn’t be making a move like that on? Did he really have no understanding of how toxic and damaging it was for people to use and abuse their power over him?

Come to think of it, _no_.

It made perfect sense.

Mione had already hinted about some shit that had gone down during the three years Draco had been in Azkaban, and this Patch bloke had been so overprotective of Draco, it was like he was reacting on instinct, from past experience of something bad happening to Draco. But Patch had only met Draco whilst he’d been in Azkaban, so it must have happened there.

What the hell had happened? Had there been someone abusing their power over him? Someone _else_ he should say, other than his waste-of-space father and Moldy the Wart, because only Merlin fucking knows what they subjected him to for the first seventeen years of his life. So a little bit more abuse in prison could have only been expected by the poor bloke, right?

Merlin, Harry didn’t think he’d ever even heard Draco say the _word_ Azkaban.

What could have been so traumatic that Draco couldn’t even bring himself to say the word of the place he had been held prisoner for three years of his life?

And how the hell was Harry supposed to help the git understand that he really shouldn’t be propositioning those who hold power over him? (Not that Harry wouldn’t necessarily object to Draco propositioning him, under different circumstances, but that was a whole barrel of flobberworms that he really didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone think about.) The whole thing was a logistical nightmare and Harry was going to have to talk to someone much cleverer than him about how to let Draco down gently, before anyone’s feelings got hurt and Draco’s perception of power play got even more fucked.

His eyes flicked up to Draco again and Harry inwardly cursed Draco for having been looking at him at precisely that moment. Stupid handsome git. Stupid handsome git that needed gently persuading (read: shoving) into professional help. Stupid handsome git that had kissed Harry and made him feel all sorts of confusing feelings that he really, _really_ didn’t want to acknowledge the existence of.

Why the hell was Harry so spectacularly shit at dealing with emotions? For as much as Mione had said Ron was the one with the emotional range of a teaspoon, Harry knew that he was much, _much_ worse at it all.

He must have run his hands through his hair a total of twenty times before Draco broke the silence.

‘Listen… Potter. I was wondering if-’

‘Nope. No no no no. I’m gonna stop you right there. If this has anything to do with the, er, _events_ that, erm, _transpired_ at last week’s meeting, I’m gonna have to ask you to stop. And possibly never mention them again. Yep. most definitely. Please do not mention them again.’

It seemed that Harry had been able to render Draco speechless; a feat that should go down in at least one history book, maybe two or three. That was that issue sorted then, he didn’t know why he’d been so worried just now! He’d let Draco down gently, reminded them both of what their relationship was and how it definitely _could not_ go any further, and no one’s feelings had been hurt.

Only Draco's face quickly flicked between expressions, almost too quickly for Harry to catch; from shock to confusion to understanding to outrage to pure, unadulterated hatred. It had been a while since that particular expression had been directed at Harry, and he certainly did not miss it. It was as if Harry had personally insulted his firstborn child.

As if Harry had struck him with a stinging hex, Draco leapt up from his seat. He shot Harry another look of pure hatred which Harry valiantly tried (and failed) not to visibly cower under, spun around on his heels and marched out of the room.

It was all Harry could do to call out pathetically after him, calls of ‘ _Dr-Ma-Draco wait_!’ and ‘ _we still have ten minutes_!’ and ‘ _what did I say wrong_?’ 

Harry started in on his paperwork, stretching the truth yet again and signing off that Malfoy had stayed for the entire duration of their meeting. It was probably all Harry’s fault that he didn’t anyway, it usually was when someone stormed out upset, he just couldn’t seem to figure out what it was this time that had upset Draco so thoroughly when really, Harry had just been doing them both a favour.

_Saturday evening_

Harry relished his time at the Burrow, he always had.

True, it had been somewhat strained in the weeks following his split with Ginny, and the family struggling to come to terms with a family unit without Fred after the war, but the Burrow would always be a home for him.

It had helped that Percy had stopped being a prat and moved back home, having quit his job at the Ministry quite spectacularly in the middle of the final battle, and that Bill and Charlie were spending more time in the week with their mother than at their own professions. Even the Gringotts goblins could understand that the wizarding world had suffered a great loss, which extended into the Weasley family, and turnover on staff at the Romanian reserve was so high anyway, that Charlie taking more extensive leave was neither here nor there for his colleagues.

It had also helped when Ginny had gone for a trial with the Holyhead Harpies in the September following the final battle, and then again when they had - understandably - loved her and invited her to join the team with immediate effect. It was the exact distraction that Ginny needed to quietly grieve for Fred, move on from Harry (and Harry on from her, but there had been no upset feelings in their mutual split), and try to continue with the rest of her life now that the war was over.

She had flown in her first game just after Halloween of the same year, and had been on the starting team for the three years since. Harry had yet to miss a game.

It was following yet another of these games that Harry found himself back at the Burrow for a celebration afterwards, cradling a butterbeer and surrounded by a sea of redheads and freckles and raucous laughter.

He loved his adoptive family, he really did, but their levels of noise and the speed they drank at was proving to be too much for him today. There was so much on his mind, from Malfoy, to the kiss, to Sam; he was just trying to keep his head above water, any more and Harry was sure it would drown him.

Harry desperately needed to talk about it and desperately never wanted to talk about it.

Excusing himself, Harry made for the back kitchen door, to sit on the step and cool his ruddied cheeks on the early summer breeze. He managed to enjoy it for all of five minutes before his peace was, inevitably in the Burrow, interrupted.

‘Bored, Potter?’

Harry closed his eyes and smiled at the voice.

‘I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you, Charlie. You remember what happened last time you snuck up behind me like that.’

Harry felt a warm body sit down beside him, pressed up against his side from shoulder to ankle. It was comforting and familiar and so very _Charlie Weasley_ that Harry couldn’t help but lean into him a little.

‘I don’t recall you complaining last time.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Harry opened his eyes and smiled over at Charlie.

‘If I’m not mistaken, it was a night not unlike this… Ginny had played her first game, everyone was getting drunk, you and I snuck off for some fresh air…’

‘Hmm. I think I remember? It’s all very vague. Not that memorable at all if I’m honest,’ Harry drifted off.

‘Oi, Potter! You’re not too much of a world saviour for me to take you down a peg or two!’ 

‘Alright, alright! Honestly, Charlie, how could I forget?’ Harry could feel his eyes shining at the memory of it.

‘I don’t think I could forget either, it was very special to me.’

Harry looked over at Charlie in the dusk. He could see his eyes shining too; everything was feeling soft and nostalgic in the early evening, helped along by the numerous butterbeers and fire whiskeys everyone had been supplied with all afternoon. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden, harsh yellow light of the open back door interrupted him.

‘Harry, you’d better not be shagging any more of my siblings out there!’ Ron shouted out at them, not daring to come out fully and risk scarring his eyeballs again, just in case.

‘No _more_ , mate. It’s only Charlie.’ Harry shouted back at Ron.

‘That’s what I was worried about.’ But Ron’s voice was already fading as he made his way back inside, the back door and it’s yellow light closing behind him.

‘I’m _only Charlie_ now, am I?’ Charlie teased, smirking at Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Oh shut up, you know what I mean.’

‘Yeah, I think I do.’ Charlie’s voice was soft now. ‘After all, you’re _only_ Harry, aren’t you.’

Harry hummed in agreement and took another sip of his drink. ‘I’d like to be. Sometimes it feels like you lot are the only people who might see me that way.’

‘There are plenty of others who see you that way, Harry. I promise you that.’

‘I kind of meant I’d like people who are _dating age_ , who aren’t family, to see me as just Harry.’

‘I know you did, but I’ve already said there are plenty who see you that way. You just need to know where to look.’ Charlie smiled at him, as if he knew something Harry didn’t, but that was nothing new to him, and Harry was well aware he was generally an oblivious person.

He just hoped he could finger out where to look for these mystery people, before everyone available got married or died of old age waiting for him.

As if sensing his internal dread, Charlie took pity.

‘Look, Harry. You know I’ll always love you - alright, pipe down, you git - and you’ll always be a part of this family. So what if it takes you a little bit longer than Ron or Ginny or even bloody Percy to find someone you want to be with? Believe me, Percy was such a tosser that no one could have seen someone as nice as Audrey coming along, but she did and now they’ve been married a year.’

‘But Char, no one sees past the scar. It’s been four years since the end of the war and I still can’t walk down the street without getting my photo taken. Even if I _did_ meet someone, how would I be able to date them without our entire dating history being plastered across every single Wizarding newspaper?’

‘I’m not saying it’ll be easy, and you wouldn’t have believed me anyway if I’d tried to. I just don’t want you to lose hope that there _is_ someone out there for you, and that they might be closer than you think.’

Charlie was giving him that smug little smile again, but Harry had no idea who he could be talking about. Other than himself, of course, and they both knew that the romantic side to their relationship had started and ended on that night two years previously. Despite the love they felt for each other, there were no deep feelings. Besides, Charlie lived in Romania for ten months out of the year and there was no way Harry was going to relocate.

No, Harry was just going to have to find a nice Brit to fall in love with. Someone who didn’t care that he was Harry Potter.

He gave Charlie a small smile as he stood up, patted Harry on the shoulder and unhelpfully told him ‘ _not to overthink it, mate, they might be right under your nose_ ’ before pissing off to rejoin the party.

Right under his nose? Maybe someone who went through the war with him? Although that ruled out almost the whole of his year and the year below, except for Malfoy of course since he’d been in Azkaban, as everyone had paired off pretty soon after the end of the war and rushed into marriage with their childhood sweethearts. It was a huge relief that he hadn’t done the same with Ginny, they would have truly made each other miserable before they reached their first anniversary, let alone for the rest of their lives.

He needed someone with the same fire as Ginny, though. Someone who could push his buttons and widen his boundaries and catapult him right out of his comfort zone (which had become unbelievably small in the years since the war). He needed someone who knew his past, who knew each and every secret in his life, and loved him in spite of it all. He needed someone who knew he made mistakes, and who had made mistakes themselves, but who worked with him to make amends and strive for a better life.

He just didn’t think he had anyone like that left in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii here's a new one for ya (if anyone's even reading lmao)  
> I took christmas/new years 'off' and spent it with my family in lockdown so this one took me a little longer than usual, but I'm back now & hopefully gonna get back into the swing of solidifying plots and actually writing this fic lol  
> I did have a lil flashback in here of Harry and Charlie's lil ~get together~ but it made the chapter way longer than I wanted it to be so I've decided to post it as a oneshot/aside kind of thing that you can read if you want but it's not really vital to anything else, just a bit of self-indulgent HP/CW because I love them (but just a lil snog and then a tactful ending because I've never written sexy stuff and I'm scared) so I'll post that at some point in the future if you wanna check that out when I do!  
> happy 2021!!!!


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